


A Pirates Life for Me

by BloodyIvar



Series: A Pirates Life for Me [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyIvar/pseuds/BloodyIvar
Summary: Gwen is a stunning aristocrat who yearns to be a swashbuckling buccaneer - until she's captured by Ivar, a handsome pirate rogue with a price on his head. Is our leading lady his willing prisoner of passion?





	1. Chapter 1

The tempest had tossed the battered pirate ship Gullhjarta far off course, but this was the least of the crew’s worries. After five hours of mayhem, the storm suddenly seemed to be gaining new life and intensity. Torn sails and bits of rigging flapped helplessly in the unforgiving gale. Earlier, a bolt of lightning had shot straight from Valhalla, illuminating the sky moments before it demolished the mainmast, sending thousands of flaming splinters into the air. The crashing waves and the howling wind drowned out the shouts of the crew.

The sailors of this pirate vessel, many of whom were still half-drunk from the prior evening’s festivities, were now suddenly sober and fighting for their lives. Everyone aboard the ship was a professional seaman and knew his place, but this storm has left its mark, as man after man had been washed overboard to a watery grave. The last command from the boatswain had been his fevered scream of, “Rocks ahoy, hard to port!”

Then a wave that seemed as immense as the sky itself engulfed the bow of the ship, and the boatswain was gone.  
Waves curled upon the deck in wild, tumultuous anger, and sailors yelled to one another as the steadied lines, watching one brave soul climb to drop a tattered sail from what was left of the main. Ivar Lothbrok pushed back his rain-soaked, dark brown hair as he watched his first mate and oldest brother, Ubbe, stand at the helm, trying valiantly to keep the battered ship from destroying her hull on the outcropping of rocks, rising and falling between the cascading waves. Ivar Lothbrok was the Captain of the Gullhartja, and his reputation as a privateer was well known across the continents. Nicknamed Sea Wolf by his adversaries because of his swift and dogged pirate ambush tactics, Lothbrok had weathered many a storm − but this was not to be his day. The gale’s pull was strong. Though the ship was once a fourth rated naval flagship and sturdy enough for many a wild sea, they suddenly found themselves in a vortex of water, spinning into destruction. Sea Wolf saw the night sky peeking through the spray of the waves, and cast his blue-eyed gaze to the heavens, as if asking for Godly assistance. The last image he saw was a strange and wondrous vision – the glorious face of a beautiful woman, her exquisite (h/c) hair suspended by the stars, as if some cosmic breeze had conjured her image. Smiling down at him from the night sky with her star-lit (e/c) eyes, she let him know that it would soon be over… 

The mutton dish broke into tiny shards as it crashed to the castle’s stone floor.  The noise from the accident was quickly obscured by the piercing wail of the kitchen mistress. The poor frightened scullery maid, who had unfortunately allowed the plate to drop, went slinking into a corner in an attempt to avoid the scalding words sure to follow. To her good fortune, wrath soon changed to panic and her misdeed was forgotten, as news of the Count’s staff conducting a surprise inspection spread like wildfire through the kitchen. The mistress quickly pushed her tangled gray hair under her loose snood, centering the twisted apron of her uniform. Barking orders and waving her hands at the already chaotic kitchen staff, she lifted lids from the pots on the stove in rapid succession, ensuring that everything was in order. Venison stew was presented to her by wooden ladle for a final taste-test, but after taking a quick sip, she decided there was not quite enough pepper for the Count’s palette, and the pot was returned to the stove for its finishing touches. An eight-tiered cake was carefully placed before her, and to the delight of the baker, met with speedy approval. The heavy oak door at the rear of the kitchen slowly opened, and daylight spilled in. Putting her best face on, the kitchen mistress turned to meet the Count’s men. Her smile quickly turned to chagrin as Lady Gwen rushed in – bodice half undone, overskirt ripped, and her hair full of briars. Exploring the docks, as she had been doing, could be hazardous, but not necessarily in the manner Lady Gwen’s appearance conveyed. It was the thorny, wiry bramble bush that she had climbed over in order to avoid discovery that had been her undoing. This certainly wouldn’t help her reputation, and time was of the essence if her escapades were to remain secret. “No time to explain! Somebody throw me an apron!” Lady Gwen called out, as she dodged a tray of pheasant that was being put into one of the ovens.  

A young scullery maid untied her stained and flour-covered wrap, and surreptitiously handed it to Lady Gwen. “Gramercy!” said Lady Gwen gratefully, and cloaking herself as a kitchen worker, she headed for the hallway door. Grabbing a plate of freshly baked bread on her way out, she winked at the kitchen mistress who scowled in return, and sped off toward the door. Seeing the burgundy velvet-clad chest of one of the Count’s men nearby, Lady Gwen lifted the platter of bread to hide her face, and in so doing, nearly collided with him. Lowering her head, she passed the loaves to a frazzled young kitchen worker.    
“Out of my way, wench!” the Count’s man bellowed at her.   
“Yes, mi’lord,” she said meekly as she moved past him toward the hall. 

Thankfully, he paid no attention to her, as he believed her to be nothing but a lowly kitchen wench. If she had been caught, there would have been many questions to answer, as a Lady was not supposed to be in the kitchen, and certainly never looking as she did at the moment. There was no way that Lady Gwen wanted to reveal her exploits. She had gone out of the castle by herself, which on its own was unacceptable behavior for a Lady, but going to the docks and searching for pirate ships would have been considered scandalous in most circles! This particular trip to the docks had been disquieting for Lady Gwen, as she had almost been caught − the back alley path blocked by the Count’s guards. She was forced to take a less direct, albeit safer, route through the forest and its bramble bushes.  

Lady Gwen continued down the long open room to another door and took a deep breath, glancing to both sides, as she pulled open the door. The way was clear, and she quickly moved toward the center of the bustling outer court area.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Lady Gwen cast her glowing eyes to the tall window of her chamber, high up on the northeast tower. A lone figure moved across the window opening. Gwen could tell, even from this distance, that it was her best friend and chamber mate, Lady Elizabeth. Putting her fingers to the sides of her mouth, Gwen let loose a shrill whistle and waved, forgetting, for the moment, that she was trying to remain incognito. Several heads turned toward her with a disapproving glance. She quickly bowed her head and hurried toward the northeast tower.

Lady Elizabeth leaned out the window, her long dark brown hair framing her face and yelled, “Ahoy there!” Gwen sprinted the remaining distance, crossed the dirt courtyard to the tower, and bounded up the winding tower stairs two at a time. After passing the last landing, she pressed against what appeared to be a solid rock wall and pushed on a large mantle, revealing a secret entrance leading to the inside clothes-closet of their bedchamber. Elizabeth was waiting for her, sporting a wide grin at the sight of her friend. Quietly closing the secret entrance, Lady Gwen leaned back against the door, laughing between long gasps for air. Elizabeth stood back, taking in her friend’s disheveled appearance. Her hair was pushed up under a servant’s cap, and bits of what appeared to be leaves and twigs stuck out awkwardly. Her figure was hidden beneath a servant’s apron, but even so, Elizabeth could see that her overskirt was ripped, and something was amiss with her bodice.

“Were you seen?” asked Elizabeth, as Gwen removed the apron and tossed it to the floor. 

“Nearly,” she replied with a smile. “But close calls always add to the adventure.” 

Walking out of the closet toward the window and sitting on its ledge, Gwen looked outside.  Tank rose from in front of the fireplace, and giving a dog stretch, wandered over to her, eager for an affectionate back-rub. 

“Come on, tell me every detail,” Elizabeth begged, her brown eyes bright with curiosity. “And I’ll comb out the tag-alongs and shrubbery from your hair!” 

Tank turned in circles, giving her a better opportunity to find that special spot to rub, just between the shoulder blades. Chuckling, Gwen turned and pointed to the harbor in the distance. “See that ship at the very end of the docks – the one with no sails; listing badly to one side? Well, that’s it.” 

“A real pirate ship,” Elizabeth sighed romantically. Gwen glanced toward her bedside table where she kept a folded piece of parchment containing an etching of Sea Wolf, the famous pirate wanted by authorities on two continents. 

“Yes, a real pirate ship, but not the pirate ship. It’s not the Gullhartja,” said Gwen, hesitation evident in her voice. 

“It sounds like you don’t want the ship to be found,” said Elizabeth, pulling at the twigs in Gwen’s hair. 

“Ouch! Careful there, matey!” Gwen reached for the comb and playfully began a mock sword fight with Elizabeth. A sudden knock at their chamber door startled Tank, who leaped halfway across the room. 

Gwen jumped up from the ledge and quickly undid her overskirt, while Elizabeth ran to the closet to ensure that the secret entrance was closed and hidden from view. “I need your help,” panted Gwen, trying unsuccessfully to unhook the back of her bodice. The knocking came again, but more insistent this time. “Just a moment… I’m dressing!” yelled Gwen, as she and Elizabeth worked feverishly to pry her from her tattered clothing. 

They heard a throat being cleared, then recognized the male voice speaking from the other side of the door. “It is I, Lord Bard, my ladies.” The two friends looked to one another in dismay. Gwen rolled her eyes and mouthed “How unfortunate,” to her friend, who quickly stifled a laugh. 

Lady Elizabeth, gathering her composure, asked, “What is your will?” 

“Please, would one of you, or both of you, or, one is sufficient of you… eh-hem, open the door so that I may speak to your most beauteous visages in, eh, the flesh… I mean, that is to say – face-to-face?” Gwen finally emerged from her gowns and grabbed for a long, lace chemise that she used as a sleeping gown.  Kicking her rumpled clothes under the bed, she pulled back her hair and nodded to Elizabeth to open the door. 

“Why, Lord Bard, to what do we owe this visit?” Elizabeth asked with an innocent grin. Gwen joined her at the door, and a surprised look came over Lord Bard’s features.   
“Oh dear, mistress, eh, Lady Gwen,” mumbled Lord Bard, his face coloring. 

“Is anything wrong?” asked Gwen, batting her big eyes in innocence. He cleared his throat again, as often was his habit, especially when he was nervous. He seemed to be particularly nervous when he was in close proximity to members of the opposite sex, and especially to the woman he was currently speaking with. His eyes briefly met Gwen’s, and then in embarrassment, he cast them down to the floor as he tried to speak coherently. It was all the two friends could do to keep from breaking into laughter as they watched Lord Bard’s face turn from dusty rose to a rich, deep scarlet. 

“Yes, of course, my business, indeed,” he managed to choke out. Clearing his throat a few more times, he finally found his voice again and stated his reason for visiting. “My good Lord Gad and myself, as you know, will be at the Count’s celebration this eve. You mayhap not be aware of the fact that we will also be the, eh, entertainment.” Gwen was honestly surprised and intrigued by this bit of information, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. He continued, “Yes, we have in fact, been a bit secretive,” he said proudly, and his gaze met hers confidently, no longer distracted by talking to a beautiful woman in her nightclothes, his own excitement giving him courage. “We are to be actors, Lady Gwen and Lady Elizabeth – actors! And we are to create a, well… That is to say, we have created quite a scene for the Count’s birthday. We will mask ourselves as two very well-known persons, and it will be a marvelous display!” He grinned impishly after he presented his plan and twirled his mustache with a forefinger, obviously quite pleased with himself. 

Elizabeth glanced over at Gwen, shrugging her shoulders. Finally Gwen said, “That’s all well and good Lord Bard, but I don’t understand what this has to do with us.” And putting a finger to her lips, she tilted her head in mock annoyance. Shifting his stance, he cleared his throat. Oh, how he longed to press his lips to that soft, delicate mouth…   
Shaking his head as if to clear it, he said, “I was wondering… um, if we were to, uh, capture one of you during our performance, would you be so kind as to, well… play along?” Elizabeth had to turn away from Gwen to prevent herself from laughing aloud. She knew her friend too well, and she was certain this would lead Gwen into just the kind of mischief she adored. Moving away from the door, she muffled her laughter with her arm, trying to make it seem as if she were coughing. Hiding her amusement, Gwen responded.  
“As you can tell, Lady Elizabeth is much too modest for any sort of public display. I, on the other hand, might consider doing you and Lord Gad a favor – if I might be assured that the favor may one day be returned.” Lady Gwen smiled, treating him to an adoring, wide-eyed look.   
Lord Bard stammered, “Yes, yes, oh, yes, very good my Lady, very kind, very, very good and kind. Right then, eh-hem, okay then. Until tonight.”  Bowing, he began to back away from the door.   
Gwen called after him, “Lord Bard!” He stopped and nervously pulled on his mustache.   
“Yes, mi’lady?”   
“What is it that I shall be doing?” she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.   
“Eh, simply be yourself!” he replied quickly, and bowing again, he departed, stumbling into the wall and nearly tripping down the stairs. Quickly closing and latching the chamber door, Gwen fell onto the bed, with Elizabeth beside her. One look at the other, and both burst into uncontrollable laughter.  Even Tank jumped up to see what the fuss was about.   
Elizabeth gasped, tears running down her face, “You are so very devilish, my friend.”   
“And in good company,” Gwen laughed.  They began hitting one another with feather pillows, as if they were once again children at play. Tank flicked a dog whisker and let out a mighty yawn, and was abruptly pushed from the bed for being complacent. 

The perfect crescent of the moon hung in the night sky, cradling a group of stars and the bright glow of the planet Venus. A cool breeze blew, accompanied by the pungent smell of brine that only a sea breeze can bring. The distant crash of waves against the sharp rocks of the shore could faintly be heard from the open tower window. Gwen leaned back on the window ledge, and folded her arms around her knees. She had spent many a day staring at the horizon from this very window, watching as ships arrived and departed from the local merchant port. From her vantage point and with her skilled eye, Gwen could now identify almost any ship before it arrived into port. She took in a deep, long breath and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly – the attraction of the sea overwhelming her as always. Elizabeth stood at the other end of the room and was affixing a brilliantly gemmed pin – a family heirloom – to the center of her bodice, right at the apex of her cleavage… a final touch to her best gown. Raising a hand mirror, she smiled at her athletic reflection, quite pleased with the outcome, her wavy, dark brown hair accenting a mischievous brown-eyed grin. She was hoping that, this evening, one particular pair of eyes might gaze at her strategically-placed brooch. Taking one last look in the mirror, Elizabeth walked over to Gwen. “Ready?” she whispered, placing a hand on her arm. Gwen turned and smiled, and broken from her reverie, bounded into action. 

“Lady Elizabeth, don’t you look spectacular in that dress! I definitely think we are ready to join the festivities!” she exclaimed, and with that, threaded her arm into Elizabeth’s as they headed out the door to the celebration. As they entered the courtyard, Gwen tossed her head and looked to the sky. The wind had picked up, and it appeared as if a storm was afoot. She thought of the lonely men of the oceans, wondering what they were thinking at this very moment. Elizabeth nudged her to hurry her along, as it had started to drizzle. Gwen brought herself back to the present and looked ahead, seeing the distinctive figure of the Count’s chief aide standing at the entrance of the main hall. He was tall and menacing, and his agile fingers were lightly grazing the hilt of the rapier hanging from his hip. He was speaking to another man; someone Gwen did not recognize. Nodding coolly, the stranger walked inside. The Count’s aide gave orders to the guards standing out front, and then smiled pleasantly to the arriving guests. He bowed his head to the gentlemen, and kissed the hands of the ladies as they arrived − all the correct motions − but Gwen and Elizabeth knew instinctively that this was not a man to be trusted. 

They guardedly approached the entrance. Lord LeVelant had deeply-inset dark eyes, and a long scar running the length of his left cheek to the underside of his chin. Not an unattractive man, he was quite formidable, and though his lips would smile, his eyes never did. Turning, he leveled his eyes in the ladies’ direction. Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably and clasped her hand tighter on Gwen’s arm. Meeting Lord LeVelant’s gaze directly, Gwen curtseyed before him. “Lord LeVelant,” she said respectfully. In response, he held her hand a bit longer than was appropriate before kissing it. 

“Lady Guinevere,” he said, looking at her with shark-like eyes. “I have heard mentioned that there has been a beautiful woman asking questions at the docks. You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” 

“Questions, mi’lord?” Gwen asked innocently. Elizabeth cast her gaze to the ground, fearing that the expression in her brown eyes might give her friend away. She knew the punishment would be severe − ladies were never to go outside the castle gates without a chaperone, and the penalty would be far worse if it were discovered that she had been loitering at the docks. Gwen’s reputation would be tarnished forever, but more importantly, she might be asked to leave the Court and be sent home to her father’s shire in deep disgrace. Elizabeth did not want to lose her best friend’s company. 

“About the pirate known as Sea Wolf, mi’lady,” Count LeVelant continued. “You do realize that the Count’s authority prohibits anyone from asking for information about this scum, lest it interfere with plans we may have already set in motion to capture him. Any man caught inquiring would be considered a spy. If a woman were caught; well, one would have to assume, Lady Gwen, that she only wanted one thing.” 

“Yes, Lord LeVelant, I understand. And I know what one gets when one assumes. In any case, I am unaware of any woman asking questions, but I will keep it in mind.” Taking Elizabeth’s hand, Gwen quickly curtseyed and stepped around Lord LeVelant.   
“You do that,” he whispered, as a thinly veiled threat. 

When they entered the interior of the main castle, Elizabeth took a deep breath. “That man gives me the shivers,” she said, making a face at Gwen. Gwen peered into a banquet hall vibrant with excitement. The Count had not celebrated his day of birth for over twelve years, and this would be an event. The Court Crier loudly announced their arrival to the rest of the guests, “Lady Guinevere and Lady Elizabeth.” Gwen watched the guests posturing; some in subtle flirtatious gestures and others with cold shoulders and turned-up noses. She scanned the room for new faces, but saw none. Several years ago, it had been arranged for Gwen to stay at Castle Green in order to meet the “right status of person for marriage,” but time after time she had been disappointed with the local gentlemen. Their conversations were dull and their attitude traditional – all wanting a refined, gentle, “domestic” female. They talked of only what they did, or how much land they owned, and how witty they thought they were.

Whenever Gwen informed them that she had been raised to learn all she could, it seemed to threaten her suitors. She talked of archery and fencing, falconry and horses. Some would be fascinated by her knowledge of these sports, although they didn’t quite believe that she actually participated in them. When she went on to describe the geography of the world, they would look at her sideways, and often tried to divert the conversation toward the kind of needlework project she might be creating. If Elizabeth was present and joined in the conversation, the friends would often quote poetry or stanzas from various books and plays. This would invariably lead to consternation for the gentlemen who thought they should be able to woo a lady through the art of speech. To the men’s detriment, Gwen and Elizabeth were two educated, well versed, attractive females who were not easily impressed with fancy language, rank or bloodline. The absolute end to any faux polite flirtations invariably occurred whenever Gwen discussed her favorite subject: pirates.   
She had kept her youthful fascination of the pirate stories her uncle had told when she was young. Stories of scoundrels and tales of romantic life at sea.  She imagined herself a pirate queen, swinging from a ship’s rigging, a pistol in one hand and a cutlass between her teeth. Often she lay in the grass under the noonday sun, smelling the salt-fresh sea air, and dreaming about treasure and ocean adventure. At Castle Green, pirates didn’t exactly have a ‘good reputation’, which was about the only quality a woman must have in order to secure a marriage prospect. Speaking in public of pirates in any noble way was perceived as offensive, and would send potential suitors scuttling. Gwen learned to keep her passions secret, except with her best friend and confidante. Although Elizabeth did not share the same passion (for it was known that twice on ocean crossings she had become quite ill), she still appreciated Gwen’s sense of adventure and fantasy. But was it only fantasy… Trumpets suddenly sounded the arrival of the honorable Count as the ladies continued searching the sea of faces. Abruptly, Lord LeVelant shoved past them and shouted for everyone to take their places at the long tables that ran the perimeter of the hall. Gwen and Elizabeth hurried and found their place cards on the table against the south wall, near the main kitchen entrance. It gave them a direct view of the Count’s chair.

Several of the ladies adjusted various parts of their clothing as they whispered to each other with excitement in their eyes. The Count was a handsome man, but after he had banished his  brother from his lands twelve years ago, he had taken to melancholy and solitude, and was rarely seen in public. He ruled his property from the high room of the south tower, and entrusted his men to do his bidding. He had known Malory LeVelant since their childhood, and had made him his second in command. When it appeared that most of the guests were in their seats, Lord LeVelant announced the Count’s arrival, and all eyes focused on the entrance doors. The sound of boots on stone echoed through the air, as the banquet hall grew quiet in anticipation. Sentry guards lined both sides of the door. The Count arrived and stood in the doorway. 

Audible gasps from several ladies were heard throughout the room. He paused for a moment, raised the corner of his mouth in a slight smile, and entered the banquet hall. The guests all stood, and men bowed while women curtseyed as the Count passed by their tables. As he positioned himself before his seat, the Court broke into applause. Those familiar with the Count could see that his spirits had lifted significantly of late. People who had only seen him from afar were taken aback by his handsome visage and the brilliance of his extraordinary garments. His manner of carriage was upright and regal, as any leader’s should be. His square jaw was set with confidence, though he looked relaxed. Adjusting his swept-hilt rapier, he sat at his place, and it seemed as if he were looking straight ahead to the south table, his gaze landing precisely where Gwen and Elizabeth sat.   
Elizabeth turned eight shades of red as she felt the magnetism of his gaze overcome her. She grabbed Gwen’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Gwen, who considered the Count one of the most charming men she’d met, observed him as he gazed toward them. She could not get a good read on him tonight − something seemed wrong, or out of place. Perhaps, she thought, it was his discomfort at being on public display for the first time in many years. Large green eyes, reddish hair, and a goatee offset his complexion. It was the eyes, Gwen decided, that didn’t match the outward appearance. He shifted his focus after a few brief seconds, but it was enough to set Elizabeth into a frenzy. “Calm down,” Gwen whispered out of the side of her mouth, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand.

“I can’t,” Elizabeth whispered back, dropping her head to conceal a smile. “He looks like the heroes from my books,” she said with a sigh. Gwen made a comment about how long his sword looked, eliciting a laugh from Elizabeth. “You’re terrible, Gwen; stop it right this moment!” Elizabeth blushed, inspecting the Count’s physique once again. The Count smiled as he nodded to the guests throughout the room. When he saw Elizabeth again he paused and gave her a strange look, as if he saw something familiar and was curious. Elizabeth raised her hands and fumbled with her brooch. Gwen was not the only one who had noticed the Count’s interest in Elizabeth; Lord LeVelant had seen the Count’s glances as well. Gwen quickly distracted Elizabeth as she watched LeVelant scowl, then lean over and whisper something in the Count’s ear. 

The Count looked briefly again at Elizabeth, and then looked away, seemingly disinterested. This little exchange definitely piqued Gwen’s curiosity. The room suddenly came to life when the kitchen mistress threw open the doors and the luscious aromas of the feast flooded the room. Platters were brought forth, laden with succulent foods. Stuffed Cornish hens with cheese and herbs, wild boar whisked in from the fire pit, turkey in fruit sauce, fresh vegetables covered with spices from the Orient, mounds of steaming rice, and creamy potatoes baked into pies were all placed upon each table. Wine and ale were rolled out in large casks and served in tall goblets. Apples pierced with cinnamon and cloves added to the smells of the hall, and a small group of musicians played softly, waiting for the all important toast to be made. When everyone’s plate looked full and ready to be eaten, the Count raised his cup. 

“Lords and Ladies of the Court,” he proclaimed in a deep, booming voice. “It has been twelve long years since I have indulged myself with a celebration of my birth. Tonight, I wish to change all that. And, my advisors keep reminding me that I must have an heir. So, I realize that I must, at the very least, interact with the ladies.” This provoked laughter throughout the room. Gwen thought Elizabeth would faint. The Count continued, “With my utmost gratitude and sincerity, I wish for all of you to enjoy yourselves this eve and join in the festivities. Eat, drink, and be merry!” Cheers and applause broke out through the room. Gwen could see the maidens begin to compare themselves to the other ladies, and friends turned their backs on one another as they posed, hoping to catch the Count’s eye. 

“Oh, Gwen,” Elizabeth sighed as if in a trance, staring longingly at the Count. Fortunately, a maidservant stooped over Elizabeth to fill her goblet with wine, snapping her from her fantasy. 

“Let’s eat,” Gwen said, unable for once to think of anything clever to say, but Elizabeth didn’t touch her food. Gwen noticed that many other ladies also pushed their food away – all looking in one direction. The Count’s official declaration of his need for an heir didn’t bother Gwen at all – as she ate everything off her plate and then nibbled off her friend’s. After the main course was finished, there was a short rest, and an announcement was made about the evening’s entertainment.   
The surprise presentation was to be enacted by two of the castle’s own lords, the announcer informed the gathering. They would be playing out a scene they had written especially for the Count. Gwen couldn’t imagine what it would be, knowing that neither Lord Bard nor Lord Gad came across as creative, bright or particularly talented individuals… Oh well, she thought, it will most likely end up being a comedy. The guests settled back in their seats and waited in anticipation; all eyes focused toward the center of the large hall. It remained empty for quite a few moments, and little laughs and whispers were heard throughout the room as the guests began to look around. Lord LeVelant narrowed his eyes and frowned as he searched the room for Bard and Gad. 

“What do you think happened to them?” Elizabeth asked Gwen quietly. Gwen shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head back in a large yawn. Her eyes gazed randomly about the ceiling, and it was there that she saw a masked figure moving along the beams, crawling from a small door that led to the exterior parapets.

“Oh dear,” said Gwen, and she clasped her hand over her mouth in disbelief. She must have said it loud enough for the man sitting next to her to notice, for he too looked up. He pointed to the figure, and soon, in rapid succession every face turned to the specter clad in black, moving slowly across the ceiling. The guests clapped in delight as the man carefully balanced himself on the center of a beam and put his arms in the air. Gwen could see that he was tying a rope to the center joint in the beam and wrapping it around his arm. He tugged and straightened his false black beard. The wingless wonder then cleared his throat for all to hear. Gwen turned her wide eyes to Elizabeth. 

“He can’t be serious,” she said, but soon found out he was. Lord Bard pulled a short cutlass from a bag and rather lamely lowered himself from the beam via the rope, high above the ground. Swinging back and forth and waving his sword, he growled like a dog, and let loose a hearty laugh. 

“I am the great pirate Sea Wolf!” he bellowed as he swiped his sword through the air. Some of the crowd booed and hissed the mock arrival of the famous pirate. One lord tossed a cloven apple, hitting Lord Bard in the head and making him wince. The guests were laughing with glee. Trumpets blew, and Lord Gad entered through the main doors, dressed nearly identical to the honorable Count – though it was obviously Gad’s plump physique. He sauntered into the hall in a brazen manner. 

“I am the Count Sigurd and master of this realm. I have come to rid the land and sea of the pirate scum known as Sea Wolf!” he yelled in his loudest performing voice, and was met with great cheers. 

Some of the guests shouted, “Look up, look up!” as Lord Bard continued lowering himself down the rope. Just as it seemed that “Sea Wolf” was about to pounce on the costumed Count, Bard’s foot became entangled in the rope and he lost his balance. He yelped as he fell headfirst toward the floor. Lord Gad looked up at his friend in horror, and saw Bard plunging headlong toward him, a mere instant away from being crushed as a result of his friend’s uncoordinated blunder. Gad only had time to cover his head with his arms and shriek. The audience broke out in hysterical laughter.

Bard’s fall abruptly jerked to a stop as the rope tightened around his ankle. He was left swinging upside down, a curiously hanged man waving his cutlass, furiously trying to slice the rope and free himself. The more he attempted to gain his freedom, the harder the audience laughed because the predicament was obvious to everyone but Bard – by cutting the rope Bard would once again begin hurtling earthward. LeVelant showed his teeth in a wide grin. It was the most expression Gwen had ever seen coming from the surly Lord.   
“Help, help!” cried Lord Bard, which brought forth more gales of laughter. Only the Count remained calm and unmoved, smiling slightly, but hardly amused. Finally, Lord Gad helped his friend to the ground, and they continued their dialogue. 

“You have tormented the seas long enough, Sea Wolf, and now it is time you receive your comeuppance.” Lord Gad drew his sword and took an en garde fighting stance. He turned his head toward Elizabeth and winked, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. The real Count noticed the exchange and took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair.   
“Stand to, Count, and take what has been coming to you for twelve long years!” ordered Bard. The Count looked anxiously at LeVelant, who was no longer smiling, his face now expressionless. He shook his head as if to say, ‘I don’t know,’ to the Count. Gwen was curious, for she had been watching the Count and was still wondering why he seemed nervous and out of sorts.

“Twelve long years,” Bard continued, “since you have celebrated your day of birth, and for this I must punish you!” The audience cheered and Gwen saw both LeVelant and the Count noticeably relax. The two impersonators next commenced a faux fight. Gad made the first attack, slow and a bit awkward. As Bard parried, he spun around, showing off his moves, dancing back and forth through the hall, and deflecting the short, blunt rapier being maneuvered at him. Bard raised his cutlass in the air and brought it down toward Gad’s head. It was a little too fast and out of control, and Gad barely had enough time to block the sword from landing upon his nearly hairless top. The audience gasped and then clapped, for now it was actually beginning to look real. 

Gwen was aghast, suddenly remembering that Lord Bard had asked her to participate in these shenanigans − and she had agreed! She had no idea she was to be a participant in a mock sword fight! She watched as Lord Bard, posing as Sea Wolf, moved closer to where she was sitting, and then, in a sudden and crazed motion, he took a mad leap onto the table and stood above Gwen’s place setting. 

“Aha! Here we have a beautiful wench, ready to be swept off by Sea Wolf! Do not attempt to stop me, Count, or it will be your last breath on earth!” He leaned down to grab Gwen’s arm and whispered to her. 

“Dear, dear Lady Gwen. You are about to be captured – I will lift you over my shoulder. Ready?” He did not wait for an answer, but jerked Gwen upward to the surprised cries of the guests. Stunned that this was part of the show, they watched as Gwen was forcibly pulled on top of the table, all the while struggling to pull free of Bard’s grasp. He was being much too forward and holding her around the waist, which was not part of the bargain. As she squirmed, she could feel Lord Bard become more tense, his grip tightening around her.   
She shook her head from side to side, and her bonnet fell back, exposing a mop of hair. Gwen didn’t know what came over her, but in that instant she was compelled to do something totally spontaneous, totally unexpected – she bit down hard on the forearm of the ungainly pirate. Bard yelled and pulled away quickly. The courtiers cheered. Bard grabbed her again with his free arm and caught her wrist as she tried to run down the table top. Gwen spun around and slapped him across the face. “You are too rough!” she yelled as he rubbed his cheek in pain. Again, the crowd roared. 

To save their show, Gad, who had been standing only feet away, yelled, “Mi’lady, I am the Count, I will save you!” As he took off at a run, he tripped over his oversized cape and fell face first, sliding across the floor. The guests were laughing so hard now that some of the men had to put down their wine goblets for fear of spilling the sweet nectar. The ladies were equally entertained, and began fanning themselves in between howls of laughter. Gwen had managed to completely embarrass and infuriate both Bard and Gad, and that meant double trouble.  She saw the look in their eyes and swiftly reacted.

Lifting her skirts above her ankles, Gwen jumped over the plates of food still in front of the guests, and ran to the westernmost table, only to be chased by Bard, banging and clanking behind her. Gad struggled to his feet and tossed his cape to the ground, his face red with anger and looking like a ripe tomato, ready to pop its seeds. Gad took to the floor running, while Bard was on the table − both men intent on seeking revenge. The guests were now screaming and shouting as Gwen ran down the length of the table and rounded the corner to the north side. She was careful not to step on anyone’s plate or knock over goblets, but Bard was not as agile, or as lucky. Gwen stopped to catch her breath and saw Elizabeth standing, pointing urgently to the wall behind Gwen. Gwen turned and saw that there, hanging on the wall before her, were two swords, crossed in decoration.   
She begged a lord’s pardon as she stepped over him, her skirts falling in his face as she yanked at the dull weapon. It came free of its braces and into her hand. The unsuspecting lord was now completely encumbered in Gwen’s garments, and Gwen quickly raised one side of her dress to free him, as she leaped across three more place settings.  Strategically located on the ground, Gad was just about to catch up with her and was still pretending to save her. She knew by his expression that he would do nothing of the kind. She now stood about ten feet from the Count’s chair, and realized that he would have her head if this game went too far. She turned away, facing the enemy again. Disgraced and looking like a buffoon, Bard’s expression turned cold – beyond anger, beyond rage. Somehow, she was surprised that this normally very gentle man harbored such anger. 

Gwen was cornered, but she did have a weapon. To the delight of the guests, Gwen lunged at Lord Bard, and the rapier shot out straight as an arrow toward his chest. He was too slow and surprised to counter, and she knocked three buttons off his black doublet, exposing a frilly undershirt. The Court cheered for Gwen, who now turned once again toward the real Count. Gad, still posing as the bogus Count, had advanced and snuck up behind her. He pulled on her dress as hard as he could, and as it was ripping, she fell backward into his arms.  Gwen landed, cradled in Gad’s arms for a moment, and the crowd’s applause became guffaws of laughter as they both fell to the ground, Gwen’s bottom atop Gad’s face.  She quickly leaped to her feet, but Gad held onto her skirt hem, and as she ran from him, her dress ripped away from her midsection, leaving her in a sheer underskirt and bodice. Embarrassed, she whacked his hand away with her sword before he tried to grab even more. 

As Bard, still in pursuit,  jumped the corner of the table, his left foot landed on the lip of a plate, sending its contents flying – directly toward the Count. Bard was so focused on the chase that he did not see the gravy-covered turkey leg and creamed spinach pastry land directly on the Count’s lap, splattering on velvet and pearls.  He was also spared the sight of a small imported Parisian carrot making its home in the Count’s goatee. The room fell quiet, but the three main participants had not yet noticed the silence that had befallen the festivities. Gwen was racing furiously across the room, being followed in hot pursuit by Bard and Gad. Elizabeth was the only one standing, and yelled to her friend, who was now running at full-speed toward her. 

“The rope, Gwen!” she shouted, pointing as Gwen reached the center of the room. The rope that Bard had tied to the beam was hanging right in front of her. Gwen saw this as her way out and jumped as high as she could, grabbing the rough braid and pulling herself up, sword blade in her mouth, like a pirate climbing a ship’s rigging. The crowd gaped in surprise and sat frozen − the sheer fabric of Gwen’s undergarments barely covering her figure as her legs flailed with each heave of her ascent. Elizabeth couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched her friend pull her body up the entire length of the rope to the top beam. Bard and Gad looked up to their escapee with open mouths. It wasn’t until Gwen herself had made it to safety, wild eyes peering down, that she realized what she had done. Adrenaline was shooting so rapidly through her body that it must have propelled her up the rope to the ceiling. Half-dressed and staring at the scene below, she remembered that she was afraid of heights, and just as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, she fainted and slumped across the beam, the sword falling to the floor below.


	2. Chapter 2

When Gwen awoke, she was in her own bed and could tell by the shadows on the wall that the sun had almost set. How long have I been asleep? she wondered. Images raced in her mind. She saw swords flashing, and the handsome face of the Count staring back at her. She saw the deep-set eyes of LeVelant and the angry look of Lord Bard coming toward her. She saw Elizabeth’s eyes grow wide and saw her point at the wall. Then her memories made her wince. She remembered the whole scene, and what had happened next. She couldn’t believe that she had really climbed the rope the entire way to the ceiling beam. That was when everything went blank.  “I must have passed out,” she said aloud.   
“You did,” a familiar voice responded. Gwen turned to see Elizabeth sitting next to her, partially hidden by the shadows. 

“How long have I been asleep?” Gwen asked, rubbing her head. Elizabeth put down her book. 

“Just the day. You must’ve really needed the sleep after all that excitement.” 

“What did I miss?” Gwen grinned. Elizabeth paused dramatically. 

“You really want to know?” Gwen nodded her head in anticipation. “Well,” Elizabeth started, “after you fainted up there on the beam and had everyone thinking that you’d fall to your death, the Count himself rushed from his seat and ran to the rope.” 

“The Count did that?” Gwen questioned, smiling wider. 

“Yes, but he didn’t quite make it to the rope because your suitor, Lord Bard-a-lot, almost tackled him in the excitement, thinking the Count was actually Gad. And when Gad yelled from behind him to stop, Bard turned and fell back – right at the moment the kitchen mistress was bringing out an eight-layer birthday cake.” 

“Oh no,” Gwen gasped, horrified at the inevitable. 

“Oh yes,” said Elizabeth, “and I bet you’ll never guess what happened. Bard fell into the cake and brought the Count right along with him. Needless to say, no one was laughing.” Gwen froze in her bed, picturing the scene. 

“How’d I get down then?” she finally squeaked.

Elizabeth paused again, then waved her hand theatrically in the air. “That stranger, the one who LeVelant was talking to when we arrived? Well, he was ordered to bring you down from the ceiling. That man climbed the rope like nobody’s business. He tossed you over his shoulder, and with great ease, brought you safely to the ground.” 

“Well,” Gwen murmured. “I’m surely grateful that’s over.” 

“Over?” Elizabeth snorted, “hardly.”  Crossing the room and looking out the window to the courtyard below, Elizabeth continued, “Gwen, the Count has ordered you and I confined to our chambers for two weeks as punishment” she sighed. “And any chance I had of attracting the Count’s attention has completely vanished.” Gwen sat up in bed, looking questioningly at Elizabeth. 

“What do you mean, punishment?” she asked. 

“If I recall, it was ‘Because of your public display and outrageous behavior.’ He also said, ‘You are to be confined for two weeks to your chamber to perform the just and correct actions of court ladies.’ We are to receive all meals here in our bedchamber, and we may only leave for three hours on Sundays, to attend religious services. Other than that, we must sew, embroider, and ‘contemplate the feminine character’.”  Elizabeth crossed her arms, obviously displeased. 

“But, but… but why you, too? I’m the one who – what was it? ‘Displayed outrageous behavior,’ why are you being punished?” Gwen asked, totally perplexed. 

“Guilty by association, mayhap. I suppose I shouldn’t have cheered quite so loudly when you popped Bard’s buttons with your sword! In any case, we’re stuck in our chamber.” 

“What about Bard and Gad? Didn’t they receive a reprimand?” Gwen questioned, looking a bit indignant. 

“Oh yes, here, look down,” answered Elizabeth, and she cast her brown eyes down to the courtyard below. Gwen got up from her bed and crossed to the open window. She followed Elizabeth’s gaze and saw two sullen figures. They were shoveling the dung that had been deposited by various animals, and were putting it into large piles under the watch of the castle guards. Bard and Gad were covered with filth, and looked absolutely miserable. “That’s their punishment for two long weeks,” Elizabeth giggled. Gwen shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. She began to pace about the room and was already becoming antsy. “Don’t even think about it,” Elizabeth said, knowing full well that her friend was scheming about various methods of escape. Elizabeth walked over to a trunk sitting in the corner of the room, and pulled out a half-finished needlepoint that had been sitting idle, and unfinished, for many years. “You can’t be serious Elizabeth!” Gwen rolled her eyes at her friend. Elizabeth ignored her for a moment, but she could feel her friend’s penetrating eyes burning into her. “Well, what am I supposed to do? You should have thought of that before running around like some ‘pirate queen’ on the table tops in the banquet hall,” Elizabeth barked. 

“Why don’t you tell me one of those stories that you are constantly reading? Some of that poetry we enjoy,” Gwen continued, trying to smooth things over. It worked.   
Elizabeth loved books and reading stories of far-away places. Her favorite read was anything by one of the master poets, William Shakespeare. She recited the plot of one of his comedies with great gusto, running about the room and putting on different voices for each of the characters. It was the story of a young woman, thrown onto the shore of a land far from her home after surviving a shipwreck at sea. The heroine thought she had lost her twin brother, and, being a lone woman in a strange land, was helped by a captain who dressed her in men’s clothing so that she could move about the town freely. Through a series of events, she attained employment with a duke, who was a very handsome man, and with whom she fell hopelessly and madly in love. The duke, thinking that she was a he, entrusted him to deliver a letter to the lady that the duke was in love with. When ‘he’ arrived at the lady’s home, the lady, thinking that the messenger was a young man, falls in love with him. This was all getting too confusing and frustrating for Gwen, who interrupted her friend. 

“Wait! You mean a shipwrecked woman dresses like a man and falls in love with a duke; but the duke is in love with a lady, and he sends the woman dressed like a man to the lady with a letter, and she falls in love with him, but he’s a she?” 

Elizabeth said simply, “Yes.” Then after moments of watching her friend try to make sense of it in her mind, asked, “Would you like to find out what happened?” 

“Do I dare?” laughed Gwen. 

Elizabeth was now more excited about her storytelling than ever before, as this was the first time she’d related this classic to Gwen. Elizabeth ran to the trunk and closets to find “costumes” to enhance the scene. She found a long velvet scarf in their clothing trunk to use as a skirt or a belt, and various other articles to portray the characters in the play. Gwen was very amused when she turned a long underskirt into pantaloons by pulling the middle material up through her legs and tying it at the waist. Gwen laughed, “You look like a Moorish seafarer.” Then her eyes widened and Elizabeth abruptly stopped, knowing her friend had an idea. Before Elizabeth could proceed with her story, there was a knock at the door. 

Elizabeth opened it to find a small scullery maid with her eyes cast to the floor, holding a covered platter of food. In a squeaky voice she offered, “Your food mi’lady,” giving a fast dip of a curtsey. Gwen recognized her voice and moved quickly to the door. She saw instantly that it was the same maid who had given her the apron. 

“Wait!” Gwen directed, and returning from her closet, gave her the crumpled apron. “I wanted to thank you for letting me, um, borrow this.” The girl, who had looked up in surprise when Gwen told her to wait, cast her eyes back down. Wondering if perhaps she had caused the girl harm by not returning the apron sooner, Gwen asked her to stay a moment, while she mulled over what she could give the young girl in appreciation. She remembered the ring that Lord Percy Bard had given her, over a year ago. It was a beautiful ring, but Gwen had no use for it. She removed it from its hiding place, and offered it to the girl. “Here, this is for all your trouble,” she said, and the girl’s eyes widened as she took several steps back. 

“Oh, no, mi’lady, this is far too grand to be given to the likes o’ me. I’m only doin’ me job.” 

“Yes, well, I’d like you to have it. It would be doing me a favor, truly. Just keep it safe, and if you ever need to trade it for monies in an emergency, you do so. It is my gift to you,” said Gwen, Elizabeth watching in surprise. She knew that Gwen had a generous streak, but she couldn’t imagine bestowing a gold and sapphire ring on a scullery maid. 

The girl stammered out, “I don’t know what to say.” 

“Well, ‘thank you’ will do,” Gwen smiled. 

“Gramercy,” the girl curtseyed, holding the ring with reverence. “Is there anything else I can do for you, mi’ladies?” she asked. 

“What do they call you?” Gwen inquired. 

“Me name is Eleanor, but everyone calls me Birdie,” she sheepishly admitted. Elizabeth laughed and held out her hand. 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Birdie,” she said. “I’m Elizabeth, and this, as surely you know, is Lady Gwen.” The girl rocked on her feet and looked around. Gwen suddenly had a thought. “Birdie, there is something that you could do for us,” she said, winking at Elizabeth. 

“Anything, Mistress,” Birdie replied, hoping to feel less guilty about the expensive gift that had been given to her. 

“My embroidery needles are too thin; could you possibly arrange to have two larger needles sent to us? I’m making a, umm, a tapestry, and it requires a thick thread. Also, I would like about five yards of canvas from the sail maker, because the tapestry is to be mounted on a frame, and I need to affix it to canvas first. Let me get you some money,” she said as she went to her coffers. 

“No payment necessary,” Birdie called out after her. “Me father is the Master of the Ships and runs the Guild; I’ll just get the material from him. When I let him know it is fer the lady who had the sword fight on the table tops at the Count’s birthday celebration, he’ll get a righteous laugh from it.” Elizabeth looked at Gwen, whose wheels were turning fast in her mind. 

“Your father is the Master of Ships? Birdie, when you bring the material we’ll talk some more. There might be something very lucrative for you on the horizon.” said Gwen, barely able to conceal her excitement. 

Birdie smiled, “I don’t know what that means, but I sure like the sound of it.” And with that, and a quick curtsey, Birdie bounded off down the stairs. Elizabeth closed the door and put a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. 

“Whatever you have growing in that brain of yours, I don’t want any part of it.” Gwen leaned back and let out a hearty laugh. 

 

The Gullhartja floated lazily under the setting sun, listing hard to starboard, but fortunately, the hull had remained intact. The majority of the crew, and its Captain, had miraculously survived the storm – the worst they’d seen in all their years – and now they were focused on repairs. The crewmen had shifted their freight portside to raise her a bit. The starboard hull had taken a beating, but the water had been pumped, and the holes were being tarred where possible. Captain Lothbrok was below, studying the maps with his first mate, Ubbe. Ubbe scratched his scraggly beard and raised his right eyebrow. “Ready for hooch?” Ubbe spoke with a thick accent.   
Ivar turned his brilliant blue eyes to him and smiling, said, “Why not?” Ubbe poured them each a healthy libation in large wooden tankards. Ivar contemplated telling his mate of the strange vision he’d seen in the night sky the evening before. He thought perhaps he had hallucinated it out of fear, or that it was a siren, luring them to the depths of the sea. It seemed so strange that this beautiful face had stayed in the night sky, like a goddess, eventually guiding them to safety.   
“Ubbe,” Ivar started, but paused, still wondering if he should confide in him. He couldn’t help but watch as his first mate scratched his privates. Suddenly Ivar was overcome by an incredibly unsavory odor.   
“Aha! Another one of them barkin’ spiders!” bellowed Ubbe, taking another swig from his tankard with a grin.   
“You’re of a class all to yourself, Ubbe,” Ivar laughed, shaking his head in mock disapproval.   
“Only the best for the Cap’n.” Ubbe took a deep guzzle then lost his balance and fell backwards in his chair, hitting his head on the table. He let out a few growls amidst several expletives as Ivar got up from his chair, stretched, then headed upstairs to the main deck. The ship survived, Ivar thought to himself. He had never seen worse – he had lost three good men last night, but thankfully he and the rest of the crew had pulled through. As he walked across the deck, he inspected the mainmast that had been seared in half by lightning during the storm. He instructed several of his men to rig the mizzenmast with their only remaining sail, and to pick up the light northerly that had begun to blow.   
Slowly, they lumbered toward a small harbor off the southern coast of Spain. After several hours, they finally approached a small, desolate inlet and a longboat with several men was lowered and dispatched to scan the surrounding territory for authorities or other signs of trouble. Sea Wolf had a distinct and famous reputation, and there was always a high price on his head. There were rumors, overblown and elaborated, about this man, none of which Ivar seemed to mind – except for one. It was said that he was a menacing killer, and wouldn’t stop his murdering ways even for the likes of women and children. When news of this report reached Ivar by a weathered, parchment ‘wanted’ poster, he crumbled it in disgust, and let his men know that this was never to be joked about.   
For whatever the reason, Ivar Lothbrok always allowed his victims to escape with their lives and their freedom. In the many years he’d sailed the Mediterranean and Caribbean, he had never killed a single innocent passenger, or even held a hostage for ransom, for that matter. Sea Wolf, however, didn’t mind the other tall tales that had been circulating about him for more than a decade. He was one of the only pirates who kept afloat, and seemed to continually flourish in the ‘privateering’ business. Of course, this was quite curious and the subject of many discussions amongst his crew, for they had yet to see much treasure. They very rarely boarded ships, or even fought many sailors, yet they were well paid, and well fed. Oddly, they were in the habit of raiding one particular seaboard, constantly scaring merchant ships back into its harbor. They stopped trade and commerce, which caused great consternation. It was soon realized that there was a specific Count for whom the Sea Wolf had a vendetta. Though he did not speak of his past, those around him knew never to pry into these private affairs, so his attention to this lone Count remained a mystery. Over the years, very few men had left the Gullhartja.  
They stayed not out of fear of retribution from its crew or Captain, but because of friendship. They traveled, went to foreign lands, made enough money, and celebrated life most nights. During these trying times, there were many worse occupations. A few men returned home when they missed their families, but as many of them were unmarried, it made sailing with Sea Wolf a brethren of the sea; a fraternity of blood brothers on the adventure of their lives. There had, of course, been the occasional fight between crewmembers, but most often it was a scrap over who drank the last of the keg, or perhaps over a young tavern wench who had caught the eye of two amorous seamen. But there was not a man on board who wouldn’t take a cannon volley or cutlass for their Captain, and each went far and above their required duties to prove their bravery and allegiance. Sea Wolf was admired and respected by his crew. Some among his crew called Sea Wolf a ‘gentleman pirate’ for even with his extraordinary charm, wit and good looks, the crew had never seen him mistreat the fairer sex. In fact, he rarely courted or went ashore with the intention of being with a woman. Whether he had been celibate all these years was a matter of speculation by the crew, but whatever he did, he kept it a private affair, and never bragged or boasted like most of the crewmembers.   
The longboat returned with news that it was safe on shore, and the Gullhartja slowly sailed into an inlet that had been cut from the rocky coastline, seemingly a natural harbor. The crew dropped anchor and began their ship inspections in earnest. This time, the damage by the powerful sea to the ship had been significant, and Ivar wondered how long it would take for the crew to rebuild the mainmast. Timing was important, for he couldn’t risk staying in one place too long – especially since the price on his head had likely risen again. They certainly had the manpower, but they were lacking the tools. Oh, for a shipmaster and his wares! After the crew had time to review their surroundings and get their land-legs back, Ivar let them know of his plans. “You men stay near the ship. I’m taking Ubbe, and we’ll see about getting some help with this mast. Cover her best you can – take down our flag and drop the sign to camouflage her name. And for land sakes, some of you take a bath! I can smell you a league away!” Ivar said with a wide grin.   
The plan was to go to one of the local taverns – actually to one tavern in particular, one that Ivar knew to be a meeting place for many a seaman. The Captain and Ubbe made their way to the tavern, using paths whenever possible, and passing beautiful tiled-roof villas and gardens. Sea Wolf dressed in a long cloak with a hood to conceal himself, though Ubbe was, as always, raggedy and proud of it.   
“You know I’d do anything for you, brother” said Ubbe a little tentatively. Sea Wolf kept walking, not looking at Ubbe, but thinking again of that strange and wondrous vision of the lady in the night sky. If only there were a maid as fair and lovely as the specter of the stars, he thought, I would do anything for her. Ubbe snapped a small branch off a passing tree to swat at the gnats that swarmed about his face. This famous sea captain, the one he’d been sailing with for nearly a dozen years, was the illustrious, banished brother of the house of Ragnar. Something none of the crew outside the brotherhood knew. They continued on their way, Ubbe occasionally looking at his younger brother. They walked on in silence, enjoying the tepid climate and the Spanish sunset, the smell of the salt air soothing their senses. Soon they headed inland toward a more populated area that eventually became a village. Sea Wolf cloaked himself again as they walked through the narrow streets. Ubbe saw a sign hanging between two torches in the distance. The sign read, ‘El Toro Negro’ but Ubbe didn’t understand Spanish, so the lettering made no sense to him. There was a painting however, of a charging black bull, its eyes red and wild, with flames coming out its nose.   
“The Black Bull tavern, Cap’n,” said Ubbe, pointing. They made their way toward it, Ivar pulling the head of his cloak closer to his face to better shield himself. As they neared the pub, Ivar saw a parchment posted on a nearby wall; in the center of the poster was a sketch of his face.   
“Looks like the price went up again,” he said as he ripped down the parchment and tore it into bits. He nodded to Ubbe, and they opened the door to the Black Bull tavern.


	3. Chapter 3

Birdie brought Gwen and Elizabeth the sewing materials as requested, and they worked from sunrise to sunset sewing garments for their adventure. Tank, of course, found the whole thing utterly ridiculous, and quickly tired of chasing balls of sewing thread throughout the room. 

“What are you going to do with Tank?” asked Elizabeth. Gwen continued working on her clothing, apparently so intent on her tasks that she didn’t immediately respond to the question. Tank began pawing at bits of fabric in an attempt to get her attention, seemingly wanting to hear Gwen’s answer as well. 

“We’ll only be gone for seven days at the most; surely Birdie will look after my dog. Sorry Tank, but dogs don’t do well on ships.”

Well, I could torment the rats on board that floating garbage scow, thought Tank disdainfully, and jumping to the bed, curled up on a down pillow. The two friends worked on securing the last of their seams, then held up their garments for inspection. They excitedly tried on their pants, and stood facing the mirror – looking at themselves and one another. Elizabeth had measured a bit larger than necessary, and consequently her pants hung loosely from her slim figure. Gwen had calculated her size as being smaller than her figure allowed for, so her breeches were manageable, albeit a bit tight. They pulled a long scarf from the clothing trunk and cut it into two pieces, and each woman wrapped her chest with the material to flatten their breasts and any visible curves. Gwen had taken an old three-quarter-length woolen coat from her estate back home but had yet to use it, so she tore into it and within the hour had made Elizabeth a waistcoat. All they needed now were men’s caps and shoes, and their disguises would be complete. After her initial discussion with Birdie, it hadn’t taken Gwen long to mastermind a plan, and if everything went smoothly, their adventure would begin tomorrow. They would start the day by attending morning services, dressed in their usual attire. Then, after being escorted back to their chamber, they planned to quickly change into their male disguises. 

Next, and with Birdie’s help, they planned to quietly sneak out the servant’s entrance and onward to the Ship Master’s Guild.  From there, Birdie’s father would escort them to a merchant ship headed for the southern coast of France, where they would spend two glorious, adventurous days, before sailing back on the last Sunday of their punishment. They would then change back into their womanly attire, and no one would be the wiser. Except, of course, Birdie and her father, both of whom would be paid handsomely for their silence. 

“Shall I use charcoal and draw myself a moustache?” asked Elizabeth playfully. Gwen laughed, her eyes betraying her excitement. 

“No, but we could roll up our stockings and place them in the front of our pants!” Elizabeth laughed uncontrollably and both reveled in their daringly scandalous plan. They practiced walking like young men and lowering their voices to speak, trying not to sound insincere. They worked on manly postures – sitting with their legs spread wide, and bending on one knee to pick something up. They practiced to one another and in front of the mirror, trying to perfect their mannerisms. Gwen had noticed that men didn’t tilt their heads when they were talking, especially when they asked a question, but women did. They kept their heads straight and took up more space by widening their stance and squaring their shoulders. The hardest thing for the two women to learn was to stop swinging their hips when they walked, and of course, not break into laughter when they looked at each other. If they were to act like men, they had to think like men – and therein was the problem; men were a mystery to them. 

“How could we ever think as simplistically as a man?” Gwen wondered aloud. Elizabeth laughed, then sobered. 

“Don’t think with your heart, Gwen,” she said. Gwen shook her head and for a moment looked sad, but then smiled. 

“If I – no, when I find the one who will think with his heart as well as his head, then he shall be the one I will go to the ends of the earth for. Strong as a whale, faithful as the graceful dolphin, tender as the leaves of seagrass that ride the ocean undercurrents, and as constant as the ebb and flow of the tides – he shall be the one and only star that shines in my night sky.” Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look as she spoke. 

Elizabeth winked, “My, you’re turning into a real poet, Gwen! It must be my reading aloud from The Bard of Avon rubbing off on you.” Gwen sighed and sat on the window ledge. 

“Anything for that one and only real love – anything.” Gwen was awake most of the night, excited by the prospect of their adventure. She couldn’t believe she was actually going through with it, and that her best friend, Elizabeth, was going to be by her side!  But during the night Gwen had also worried. What’s the worst that could happen? Gwen thought to herself. We could be caught leaving the castle before we even begin our journey. But she knew what the worst would really be… We could hit rough waters and not make it back by Sunday, when the Count is planning to visit our chamber to release us from his punishment. Or what if Elizabeth and I don’t pass as young men and are sent back in disgrace before even boarding? Or worse, out at sea, we could be discovered to be women… She didn’t want to think of those consequences. But there were also the very real perils of the ocean itself – Gwen knew only too well that the sea could be as merciless as any pirate crew. She had lost many friends and even family members to the ocean, and over the years had gained a healthy respect for the strength of the sea. She had been young when these tragedies had occurred, but she often thought of how her life might have turned out if she had stayed with her family in their hometown and had married a handsome fisherman. She tried, however, not to dwell on the past, for she had learned the futility of that sort of thinking. 

The morning sun brightened the room, and Gwen and Elizabeth bounded out of bed. They brushed and beribboned their hair, but passed on perfuming their skin, as both knew it would linger long past the time they were to don their manly disguises. They stripped off their nightclothes and pulled on stockings, their “manly” pants, and their underskirts, having decided the night before that it would be less time-consuming to change into their costumes when they returned from church if they already had part of their disguises on underneath their dresses. They both wore a man’s loose chemise under their dress, which felt bulkier than it looked. Just inside the secret door were two pairs of shoes and two men’s caps, along with a folded note, which read: Fadder sez all is well. Ship leeving at one ower past midday…Birdie 

“God Bless her,” said Gwen in heartfelt tones, showing the note to Elizabeth. They knew that the church service ended at noon, but what would happen if the sermon went slightly longer, as it occasionally did? Another concern was the length of time it could take to be escorted back to their bedchamber, which depended solely on the mood of their guards. That left them with only moments to change into the rest of their disguise, sneak out of the tower, cross the courtyard, race to the Ship Master’s Guild, and then board the ship. It would be close, but Gwen knew that this would be true high seas adventure, if they could make it in time. They laid their waistcoats and other clothes on the bed, and Gwen reached for the knife she kept under the mattress. It had the family crest carved into its beautiful ivory handle, and would come in useful if they met with trouble. They readied themselves, and with hearts racing in anticipation, the two friends reached down and cuddled Tank, who woke only long enough to shoot a disapproving look at Gwen, then promptly went back to sleep. She kissed Tank on the nose, leaving the dog asleep on the end of the bed. Leaning out the window, Gwen saw that the courtyard was already full of people walking to the church. 

“Where are those blasted guards?” she cursed in frustration. Elizabeth quickly tapped Gwen on the shoulder, and turning toward her, Gwen noticed the stranger who had been with Lord LeVelant on the night of the banquet, standing in their doorway. 

“How did you open the door, sir?” Gwen said with thinly veiled anger, and perhaps a bit of fear. He did not answer, but slightly bowed his head in their direction. Gwen saw his eyes move toward the bed. Fortunately, they’d had the foresight to close the bed curtains, which meant that their visitor did not have a clear view of the bed from where he stood. Only the bottom of Gwen’s coat hung slightly below the edge of the curtains, and luckily, would not be recognized for what it was.

“Sir!” Gwen snapped, and his eyes returned to her. His thin fingers slid into the side pocket of his cape and from it, he produced a set of iron keys. Gwen immediately saw that he held the master set and panicked – she did not know who this man was or why they had sent him on this morning of all mornings, but she did know that he worked for LeVelant and assumed him to be a spy. She also knew that there was only one master set of keys for the entire castles keep, and it had been in the possession of the jailer, who also happened to be the head locksmith. 

“Those are Jack Parks’ keys,” Gwen gasped. The stranger eyed her nastily. 

“Were,” he corrected. Elizabeth motioned for Gwen to hurry and leave with him, for time was of the essence. Their dresses were long enough to cover their masculine shoes, but they had to be careful as they walked the stairs, for they had to slightly lift the hems in order not to trip on them.  Their new guard walked with them down the stairs and out into the courtyard. Even with the oddity of an unknown guard, it was nice to be in the fresh air of the bright morning. Gwen silently rejoiced, and raised her arms toward the sun. She could only lift them partway, as the arms of her undershirt tightened under her dress. 

“Something the matter?” the stranger asked, his lip curled in a queer smirk. Gwen quickly shook her head and continued on toward the church. As they passed the stocks in the midst of the courtyard, she noticed that all three were occupied – two by notable ruffians who frequently drank until they fought; the other holding Jack Parks. Elizabeth gasped in surprise, and Gwen’s deep eyes widened in disbelief. Jack lifted his head as they came near, obviously tired and in pain from spending time cramped and motionless in the yoke.   
“Don’t trust him!” yelled Parks. “That’s the man who’s after the Count’s brother!” As he said the last few words, their escort quickly clenched his hand into a fist and struck Jack hard, and an audible crunching of bones could be heard. A stream of blood ran from Parks’ nose down the man’s chin, quickly forming a puddle on the ground. The color drained from Gwen and Elizabeth’s faces. What did Jack mean, ‘the Count’s brother?’ And why was he in the stocks?  While both silently pondered these questions, they felt that they’d better keep quiet, for fear of incurring the stranger’s wrath. 

They had never been so grateful to reach the doors of the church in their lives. A large number of parishioners had filled the sanctuary, so the two were forced to sit in a rear pew, never out of sight of the imposing stranger. He stood near the door and Gwen could hear him clinking the keys in his pocket, but she wasn’t sure whether it was a nervous habit, or a means of keeping the ladies compliant. Gwen and Elizabeth looked around the congregation, as they both enjoyed passing time by people-watching rather than listening to the monotonous drone of the service. They couldn’t help but notice that both Lord’s Bard and Gad were in attendance, but much cleaner than when the ladies had last seen them. Lord Bard had turned in his seat and was glaring at Gwen, a definite maliciousness in his stare. 

“At least we’re not sitting near them, Gwen,” Elizabeth whispered. In the next moment, something moved in Elizabeth’s peripheral vision, causing her to turn to the back of the building. When she located the source of movement, she saw that it was the handsome visage of the Count.  He was seated next to Lord LeVelant. The Count’s head was bowed and his hands together in prayer. Elizabeth couldn’t stop staring at him; even with his head bent, she felt a flutter in her stomach at his nearness. He seemed to sense her brown eyes upon him and looked up, locking eyes with her. Her breath caught in her throat at the warmth of his smile. Blushing, she turned guiltily toward the front of the cavernous room. Gwen grabbed Elizabeth’s hand to stop her incessant fiddling, and as she did so, felt Elizabeth’s pulse racing and realized her hands were now damp with perspiration.   
Curious, she looked toward Elizabeth and noticed the blush on her face, and the rapid rise and fall of her bodice. 

“I’m not going,” Elizabeth whispered. 

Gwen narrowed her eyes, and out of the corner of her mouth said firmly, “You must.” Then she added softly, “I cannot go alone.” 

With that, Elizabeth sighed and nodded her head in agreement, thinking that even though she was secretly and desperately in love with the Count, a friend was a friend and that was that. Besides, Elizabeth thought, how could I ever gain the affections of a man such as him? After a seemingly interminable amount of time, the service finally ended. Noticing that their escort was nowhere in sight, they stepped outside. A hand snaked across Gwen’s shoulder and she spun quickly around with a biting word on her lips for the person who was being so forward.  To her utter chagrin, it was Malory LeVelant.  It was all she could do to quell the shudder that coursed through her body at his touch. 

“I see you’ve met my man Aelle,” Lord LeVelant said to her. “Some say he saved your life, Lady Gwen. Treat him with respect, and no trouble will come to either of you.” He scratched the scar on his face and looked down at Gwen.  “I have asked your acquaintances, Lord’s Bard and Gad, to escort you both back to your chamber.” At his words, the men appeared by his side, obviously angered at yet another humiliation.  With insincere gallantry, the two men offered their arms to Gwen and Elizabeth, only to have the ladies refuse and walk on ahead of them. Elizabeth heard a laugh and turned back, seeing the Count himself watching as they left. At a brisk pace, they reached the tower in record time, the men trying unsuccessfully to keep up. Gwen quickly bounded up the stairs with Elizabeth fast on her heels. 

The midday bell had sounded earlier, and they knew they must hurry if they were to make it to the ship in time. The ladies reached their room and quickly entered, closing the door on their unwilling escorts’ noses, not even bothering with a polite ‘thank you’. Waiting an excruciatingly long moment for the sound of boots signaling the men’s departure, they quickly tore off their dresses. They released their hair from their snoods and each woman busily tucked her hair back into the seaman’s caps that Birdie had provided. Then they pulled on their respective waistcoats and checked their appearances in the mirror. Gwen pushed a few stray strands back up into her cap, and tucked her knife into the swath she had around her chest. They found it difficult to breathe because of the constriction of their wraps, and both were filled with nerves, making an uncomfortable situation even worse – but the transformation was complete. Gwen bent over Tank, who had been sitting near the window looking at the sights below. She pet the dog’s head and stroked its fur, whispering “I love you,” and “we’ll be back soon,” in the animal’s flickering ear. After one last cuddle, she turned toward Elizabeth and then back to the mirror. Gwen and Elizabeth examined their reflections one last time, and then Gwen’s eyes locked onto Elizabeth’s brown gaze as if to say now or never. They silently crept out of the secret side door of the chamber. The tower appeared unoccupied, but they still proceeded slowly. 

If they could make it past the courtyard, the first part of their ordeal would be behind them, and then the real test would begin. A moment later they were in the open courtyard, proceeding ahead, step after manly step. So far, so good. They had not yet seen anyone who knew them well – and hoped that they would not. They headed for the castle’s main entrance that led to the harbor. The Ship Master’s Guild was located a few hundred yards outside the castle walls, and they needed to find Birdie’s father quickly. Walking at a fast clip, they rounded a corner and almost collided with Lord’s Bard and Gad, who were just now heading off to continue their punishment. 

“Watch it boy!” yelled Lord Gad to Elizabeth, who immediately put her head down and mumbled, “Beg pardon mi’lord.” 

When the men were long past, Gwen and Elizabeth let out a huge sigh of relief. They sprinted out the portal of the castle and ran down the road toward the Ship Master’s. They located it by a sign with a sail, and a carving of a great whale on the wooden door. Gwen gave a hearty knock, filled with adrenaline, her breathing fast and labored. The door sprang open to reveal a slender man with a full beard that reached nearly to his belly, and the largest hands Gwen had ever seen. Behind him was his small and frail-framed daughter, Birdie. He waved them in and closed the door. His voice was as fickle as the sea itself. 

“Welcome to my most humble home,” the Shipmaster, Floki said, and motioned for them to sit at the table. 

“Humble home?” questioned Gwen. “You must be paid well for your craft,” as she gazed at the many extravagant positions collected from the shores of far away lands. Birdie giggled in amusement, and the Shipmaster let out a high pitched giggle. 

“Hardly,” he chuckled again, “there’s me great and grand palace.” He pointed a slim arm to the window facing the shore, and to the ocean beyond. He then turned and laid out a large map on the table and pointed to the midsection. “Here’s us on the eastern shores of merry ole’ England, and this is where yer goin’,” he stated, as he ran his finger down the western side of France. “There’s a village there, called La Belle Vache, a very pleasant town. The beaches are safe, and the locals helpful. The ladies aren’t shy neither, so be careful, or you might have one or two following ya’s home!” he laughed, and slapping Gwen’s back, sent her careening into the table. Elizabeth hadn’t given that bizarre twist any thought until the Shipmaster mentioned it. 

“Well, I guess we’ll find out how Viola really felt,” she said, thinking of the heroine from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. Gwen made a face in response. “It’s only going to be for a few days; we’ll be safe,” Gwen said hopefully. The Shipmaster looked out the window. 

“We best be goin’,” he said, and he handed Gwen and Elizabeth two sacks filled with necessities. “Got any tobaccy?” he asked as an afterthought. They shook their heads. Opening a large tin, he placed several pinches into a cloth and tied it up. Gwen looked quizzical. “Ya might need some to barter with,” was his only explanation, and he motioned to the door. They said their fare-thee-wells to Birdie, and along with the Shipmaster, headed out toward the harbor. As they neared the dock, they saw a medium-sized merchant sloop being loaded with supplies.  A few odd-looking crates were being carried aboard, and the shipmaster explained that these were expensive objects of art to be sold in nearby France and Spain – the proceeds of which were to be returned to Castle Green. There were many seamen about, and Gwen recognized a few of them from her secret visits to the harbor. She pointed to the pirate ship that had been captured by the Count’s fleet. 

The Shipmaster piped up, “Too bad it weren’t the Gullhartja – what a pretty price we’d get for her crew.” Gwen was quiet as they passed the ship and stood near the loading dock. The Shipmaster waved at a man near the boarding plank. He wore a sleeveless shirt showing strong arms, and a weathered, handsome face with a cigarillo burning from the corner of his mouth. “That there’s Roberto Dunnelle; he’s the Captain of The Dragon, your ship. He’ll be takin’ ya to the coast, and then pickin’ ya up as we arranged. He has to make one other drop before comin’ back, so you’ll be on yer own in the town,” the Shipmaster told them. Gwen looked worried, for this was not what they had agreed to. The Shipmaster continued. “Don’t furrow yer brow. Yer in good company, lasses; I’d trust Roberto with me life. I have to stay here and take care of some business. If ye didn’t notice, they got Jack Parks in the stocks, and I’m fixin’ on straightenin’ that out.”

He waved to Roberto again and nodded in Gwen and Elizabeth’s direction, Dunnelle waving to the women. Quickly, Gwen reached into her pocket, and held out her hand to the Shipmaster. “Your payment,” she said and handed him a pouch. He looked insulted, so she quickly added, “It’s for Birdie. You never know when she might need a dowry.” She winked at him and he giggled, accepting the money and hurrying away with a smile. Roberto approached and held his hand out to the ladies, and they did their best not to grimace as he nearly crushed them within his hearty handshake. 

He looked them up and down and grinned, “Quite the disguise mi’ladies. To be on the safe side, I’d stick to myself if I was you.  Don’t want to alarm the crew.” Nervous and excited, they boarded the ship for the start of their adventure. Roberto showed them below to their quarters which turned out to be a small set of bunks in a storage area. It was very cramped and smelled of musty old seawater, but at least it was private. They wouldn’t be on the ship for long anyway, and it was a decent place to rest their heads and stay out of the way of the men working aboard ship. There was a small crew of about a dozen men, some of whom were returning home to France and Spain. 

These merchant vessels, and many like them, made short excursions to import and export goods, and some handled Castle Green’s commerce in trade, exporting salt, wine, fresh and dried fruit, oil, honey, dried shellfish, cork, hops, and other raw materials to northern Europe in exchange for grain and flour, dried and salted fish, and dairy products.   
Gwen and Elizabeth placed their sacks on their bunks, and poked their heads above board at midship, curious to see what was happening. The ship had lifted anchor and was pulling out of the deep-water harbor. They watched as several sailors scrambled up ropes and began adjusting sails that were beginning to fill with the sea breeze. There was a crisp wind blowing in the direction they were headed, and they began to pick up speed as the crew brought the nose of The Dragon into the wind. The ladies climbed to the deck, staying portside and watching the land grow smaller and smaller, with the castle and its towers high on the hill shrinking before their eyes. The wind whipped wisps of Gwen’s errant hair and she was ecstatic to finally see the ocean from The Dragon’s perspective, rather from her bedchamber window.

They cleared the harbor, and immediately the sea darkened and became rougher. Elizabeth’s face turned pale, watching the whitecaps that now dotted the tops of the waves. She made a sign to her friend that she was going below to their room. Gwen was left alone and leaned against the rail, her face to the wind. It was a glorious day for sailing, and it was obvious by the way the Captain commanded the ship and crew that they had sailed this route many times together. The crew hoisted the last of the main and they held a good and fast speed, now under full sail and warm weather. She saw Captain Dunnelle approaching and he stopped by her side, patting her on the back. 

“I won’t ask why yer doin’ this lass – er lad, but I commend you for your bravery. You know, you could have dressed as a girl and taken a gentile cruise on the ‘morrow, instead of a quick seven-day merchant trip at top knot with some old crusty sea dogs.” He spit tobacco juice off the side of the ship. 

“How long would it have taken on one of those big ships?” Gwen asked, trying to make conversation. 

“Oh, about twice us – I’d say fourteen to twenty days, depending on the weather, then that plus a few more on the way back, for it’s a bit of a harder tack.” She hadn’t really been listening closely, and then realized what he had said. ‘About twice us.’ 

“You mean fourteen to twenty days round trip,” Gwen said, trying to clear up the misunderstanding. Roberto chuckled and shook his head. 

“Listen lass, I don’t know anyone who can better me in cuttin’ time off this course, and I’m lucky to make it in less than seven days just there.” Gwen’s face went ashen.   
In her haste, she had misunderstood the Shipmaster and thought that it would be only seven days total. How could she have done this? She felt ignorant mixing up the dates so badly. She knew that Elizabeth would never have agreed to the plan if she’d known the reality of the situation. Then she recalled a well-traveled friend telling her of his sailing exploits to France, and that he was back within the week. 

“How can it possibly take so long to get La Belle Vache?” she asked, confusion evident in her voice. The Captain stared at her, one eye squinting shut. 

“La Belle Vache?” he said sharply. “We’re not goin’ there, we’re headed for Porto Estrella, the southwestern harbor of Spain, near Lisbon. The ship for France leaves tomorrow!” And with that, he headed below deck, leaving Gwen to reflect on her predicament, alone with the cool sea breeze.


	4. Chapter 4

Ubbe entered the dark interior of the Black Bull Pub, ahead of his Captain. Standing in a band of light from the open door, he scanned the crowded room for men of the law, or enemies. No one on shore knew their ship would be docking in the nearby waters, but it always paid to be careful, especially now that the price on the Captain’s head had increased. He searched the shadowed corners again and saw no danger. The large wooden tables were surrounded by men drinking, smoking and telling loud, tall tales of adventure and conquests – real and imagined. Ubbe didn’t sense any danger from the drunks playing cards at the tables in the corner, or from the men sleeping on tilted chairs against the walls. He signaled to Ivar that the way was clear. 

Entering the tavern, Ivar took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark, smoky interior. He and Ubbe made their way toward the long bar near the back of the room, walking between tables filled with men drinking and tavern wenches plying their trade. Glancing around, Ivar shrugged out of his long, dark cloak, and with his muscular frame and physical features now exposed, made his way toward the grizzled bartender. At Ivar’s entrance, a few eyes had turned his direction, and recognition by some soon became recognition by many. A hush fell across the room. With measured steadfastness, Ivar walked the last few paces to the bar. 

Ubbe tried not to attract attention to himself, feeling for the handle of the knife tucked in his belt and assuring himself the pistol was still under his shirt, strapped to his ribs. “Dos Cervesas,” Ivar told the bartender firmly. 

“As you wish, Senor,” the bartender nodded, glancing cautiously at the parchment tacked to the post beside the bar. Following the narrow eyes of the bartender, Ivar’s blue-eyed gaze turned to see his likeness staring out from the wanted poster – identical to the parchment he had just ripped down outside the tavern. Unconsciously, he tensed while the barman filled two cups with ale. Thick smoke hung in the quiet room as Ivar and Ubbe lifted the mugs of strong libation to their lips. A rustling sound from the back of the tavern was followed by an odd, yet familiar, whistling noise just before a knife blade hit and lodged itself into the center of the Sea Wolf wanted poster – not more than ten feet from Ivar’s head. The long, serrated knife blade was half-buried in the post. A polished ivory handle added the finishing touch to the deadly weapon – a weapon far too specialized and expensive for the average bar scoundrel.

From the back of the room, a peculiar chuckle filled the heavy silence. As the echo of the laughter disappeared, something jostled Ivar’s memory. Beside him, Ubbe withdrew his pistol and assumed a protective stance in front of his Captain, searching the tavern for the source of the laughter, and owner of the blade. Ivar turned for a closer look at the patrons, realizing that the owner of the unusual throwing blade could easily have killed him if he had intended to. Suddenly, Ivar remembered where he had heard the sound before.   
“Santiago? Santiago Morales?” Ivar bellowed. Seeing a movement in the corner, Ivar noticed a shadowed figure hidden in the darkest recesses of the pub. The man stood – all six foot six of him; a giant Spaniard, clad in black with gold buttons affixed down the sides of his shirt sleeves and pant legs. He came into the torchlight and Ivar instantly recognized his old childhood friend. Santiago gave a big smile and rushed to him, and while some of the patrons thought he was going to capture the pirate, Santiago held him by the arms and kissed him on both cheeks. 

“Bueno! Bueno! How good it is to see you!” Santiago exclaimed, slapping Ivar on the back and reaching over to dislodge his blade from the post. 

Nodding toward the parchment, Ivar said, “And you as well, old friend. I see your aim has improved since we were twelve and you hit the Duke’s prize steer with just such a throw!” He continued chuckling, “Ubbe, this is Santiago Morales Benito de Toledo, a friend from when we were but boys.” With a gesture of his hand, Santiago made it clear to his men that they were to keep an eye out for the law or unknown visitors to the tavern. 

Speaking to the bartender in Spanish, Santiago ordered free drinks for the house, raising a rousing cheer. Ivar and Ubbe then followed Santiago back to his table in the corner. Santiago motioned away an attractive Spanish woman with raised skirts and jet-black hair falling loosely across her bare shoulders. Ubbe shuddered and sighed in obvious disappointment as he watched the wench sashay away. Santiago laughed, and wanting to spend time with Santiago, Ivar told Ubbe to go ahead and enjoy himself. Ubbe, not needing to be told twice, was gone like the wind. Ivar and Santiago spoke for hours in the manner only old friends can. As they caught up on the missing years, the revelry continued around them, while the bartender kept their tankards full of ale. Santiago and Ivar had played and grown up together. Santiago had left Castle Green as a young man, when his father was released from the service of the Duke and his family returned to their native Spain. 

Santiago remembered the opulence and wealth of Castle Green, and expected Ivar to regale him with stories of family and wealth; the kind of stories that only come with the rank and honor of a privileged few. But such was not the case, and soon the sordid tale came to light… Ivar was the Duke’s son and the title of ‘Count’ was bestowed upon him and his older brothers at an early age. As was tradition, all properties were to be inherited by the Duke’s youngest offspring – Ivar – and this became the subject of occasional strife between the brothers. Santiago had been aware of this fact while still living at Castle Green. But as Ivar told the story, it became clear that the trouble between the two brothers had escalated with the passing years. Santiago was shocked to learn that his old friend had been banished from the Court, and his home of Castle Green. 

“I was accused of murdering Lady Lizbet of Straum,” Ivar said, staring into his ale. “It was a plot against me – but to this day, I can’t prove who killed her, or why they framed me. I would bet all my ducats that Malory LeVelant and his hired assassin, Aelle, were behind it though.” He sighed again and continued, “My knife and gloves were found in Lady Lizbet’s chamber, and my chain bearing the Duke’s insignia was found on the floor beside her bed. LeVelant and Aelle poisoned my brother’s mind until he refused to listen to me. My father had been ill, and his passing further complicated things. On his death, my brother ordered my arrest and I was thrown into jail as if I was a common hooligan. I escaped after two days, only to be brought back again. LeVelant convinced my brother that the fact I escaped proved my guilt. In fact, had my brother listened to my pleas even once, he would have discovered that I was attempting to find proof of the real murderers.” Ivar shook his head once again at the memory of the controversial trial, and the resulting sentence of banishment from Castle Green – with only the clothes on his back.

“I tell you, Santiago,” Ivar continued, “were it not for the jailer who gave me a small sack of gold, and the Shipmaster who got me aboard a merchant ship bound for Greece, I don’t know if I would have survived. After a couple of years in Greece, I acquired the Gullhartja, an honest and hardworking crew, and a new identity.” Ivar sat back, spent from telling his story – the first time it had been told in twelve long years. 

Santiago leaned across the table and spoke intently, “You say Malory LeVelant and Aelle?  Si, si.  I know of them. It is said that they are running a little business on the side, without your brother’s knowledge. LeVelant has a number of ships secretly under his command. The crews routinely attack Spanish, French and Italian merchant ships – raid the supplies and valuables, kill all on board and then scuttle the ship,” Santiago continued sadly. 

“Many friends and family have been lost in these raids, my friend.” 

“There is a merchant ship coming into these waters at the end of the week – El Draco, ‘The Dragon’ she is called – and she is commanded by a capable Captain. The Captain though, does not know that the cargo was stolen by LeVelant. My men and I are trying to stop the thievery and murder, so we plan to ground The Dragon as she comes into harbor, and expose the goods to the Captain. Some of my men want to retaliate and kill all those on board The Dragon, but I tell them no.” 

Santiago leaned back in his chair, and with a conspiratorial wink at his friend continued, “I say: Why not save revenge for the ones who deserve it most?” 

 

The seven days on board The Dragon had passed slowly, and Elizabeth emerged only a few brief times from her berth.  Gwen wasn’t sure whether it was the seasickness, or the delayed return to Castle Green that was the cause of her illness. They had both felt rather unwell after realizing their circumstances. An obvious mistake by the well-meaning Shipmaster, they should have been on the merchant ship leaving the day after The Dragon left port. With Jack Park’s arrest and with everything else afoot, the Shipmaster must have confused the days, or perhaps it was the destination he had confused. Either way, they were stuck aboard The Dragon seven days longer than planned – whether they liked it or not. They feared poor Birdie would eventually bear the brunt of the delay, for she was the one who dressed in Gwen’s clothes and answered the chamber door when called upon, back home at Castle Green. That facade might succeed until the Count’s punishment was completed, but once that was over, Birdie was sure to find herself in big trouble. 

Gwen, tried to make the most of their journey by practicing the art of “maleness” and getting to know the crew. She called herself ‘Nicholas’ in the company of the men, and they referred to her as ‘Young Nicholas’. She seemed to be passing the initiation set up by the crew for its newest crewmembers, but whenever curiosity about her behavior surfaced, she explained away their questions by stating that ‘he’ was an only child, raised by his mother, as pirates had killed his father. This seemed to placate most of the crew, but there were still a few jeers and jabs. 

Finally, on the seventh day, a loud cry from the boatswain high atop the mainmast alerted all aboard that land was in sight, and it wasn’t long before the ship was pulling into a small port. Gwen ran below to get her friend, who wouldn’t budge from her sleeping quarters. Elizabeth pushed her away, mumbling sickly from her bunk. Gwen tugged at her sleeve, excitedly telling her they were in port, and finally convinced her to come up on deck. 

“The waters are as smooth as a looking glass!” Gwen said excitedly. 

“My looking glass is cracked,” retorted Elizabeth, but she reluctantly moved closer to the rail for a better look. Elizabeth’s usual good spirits returned when she saw the shore, and she grabbed Gwen’s hand excitedly. One of the crewmen walked by, giving them a quizzical look, but went about his business muttering something in Spanish. Elizabeth quickly let go of Gwen’s hand. 

“Boys,” Captain Dunnelle said by way of greeting as he joined them at the rails and watched the ship move closer to the docks. He was very helpful, providing them with information about lodging and sharing local history. Dunnelle told them he would escort them to the Inn where they could dine and sleep that evening. The rest of the crew would be coming ashore later, but would return to sleep aboard ship. “Now you two, go down below and change back into your normal clothing,” the Captain ordered, moving toward a group of crewmembers who were beckoning to him. Taking one last glance at the shore, Gwen and Elizabeth hurried to their berth to change.  They tore off their breeches and the heavy linen shirts as quickly as the awkward material would allow. Hastily, they unraveled the heavy cotton binding from around their breasts and replaced it with the much softer silk chemise. Assisting one another, they donned their long skirts and modest bodices. 

“What a relief,” Elizabeth said blissfully, “to finally be in our own clothes!  And how nice to see color again! I must say, Gwen, I don’t think I would be happy to spend all of my days dressed as a man,” she continued, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Elizabeth,” Gwen replied. “Skirts are indeed pretty, but they certainly are not suitable garb for climbing to the crow’s nest!” she said with a devilish grin. Once they changed and went topside, the friends were about to join the rest of the crew when the Captain pulled Gwen up short by her arm, motioning her to the side rails.  He pointed out a burly group of men headed down the docks toward the ship, none of whom looked friendly. When he saw them removing swords and cutlasses from their scabbards, he abruptly instructed Gwen and Elizabeth to stay by the rails. Dunnelle called out orders to his crew to arm themselves with axes and short swords.   

As the group of men came closer, Captain Dunnelle recognized one of them. “Santiago Morales,” he said, with just the slightest tremor in his voice. “Go to the stern and hide,” he told the women hastily.  The two women pulled up their skirts and ran to the back of the ship from where they watched the action unfold. Santiago Morales was the most imposing man they had ever seen. He was taller than the Shipmaster back home, and his jet black hair and dark skin made him a creature to behold. No less than two-dozen men, all very swarthy looking, followed him. The men approached the ship, but Captain Dunnelle did not drop the gangway. Instead, Dunnelle spoke loudly to the horde of ruffians below. The words were mostly in Spanish, and Gwen and Elizabeth caught only a few. However, they could tell by the furious hand gestures that something very serious was going on. 

“Do you think they’ll let us go ashore?” Gwen asked, watching the men argue. 

“They better!” Elizabeth vehemently responded. She had had about enough of the ship and the sea. The girls watched nervously as the men argued back and forth. Finally, Santiago laughed, but the women didn’t know if they had finally reached an agreement, or if this Morales fellow was mocking the shipboard crew. Gwen watched as a hooded figure moved toward the big Spaniard and whispered in his ear. As he did so, the hood fell from his face for a brief moment. 

Gwen gasped, unable to hide her surprise. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and although she knew she’d never seen him before, somehow he looked familiar. Gwen’s heart raced as she tried to get a closer look, but before she could move to a more favorable position, the Captain dropped the plank, and the Spaniard and his crew ran onto the ship. 

“Now what’s going on?” Gwen wondered, mostly to herself. Elizabeth moved closer to Gwen and stooped behind her, watching as the men gathered near the quarterdeck. Gwen hadn’t been able to determine exactly what the situation was, but she was sure it had something to do with the cargo stored below. The Captain was gesturing wildly, and from the few words Gwen understood, she knew he was clearly challenging the Spaniard and his men to check the cargo for themselves. The big Spaniard and Captain Dunnelle finally went below and returned with their arms full of pistols. Another group of men emerged from the cargo hold dragging a crate that had been split open. It was full of ammunition – and judging by the look on Captain Dunnelle’s face, he was more surprised than anyone by this discovery. The women watched as crew of The Dragon were escorted ashore by the Spaniard’s men. Captain Dunnelle and Santiago Morales went back below, while Gwen and Elizabeth were left hiding behind a group of barrels, not quite sure what they should do. Gwen kept stealing glimpses of the Spaniard in the cargo hold, trying to come up with a plan, when Elizabeth tugged at her sleeve, pointing skyward to a large group of seagulls that swooped and hovered overhead, obviously hoping for food. 

“Gwen, we’ve got to move now! They are about to give us away!” she said in a panicked whisper, gesturing to the sky. 

“It might be a good idea, lassies, if you don’t want them to soil your dresses,” a deep, unfamiliar voice boomed from behind them. Jumping in surprise, Gwen and Elizabeth slowly turned to see who’d snuck up behind them. 

Gwen was suddenly face-to-face with the mysterious cloaked man. He had a faint smile on his face, but all Gwen noticed were his penetrating blue eyes – eyes that seemed to be looking straight into her soul. Never taking his eyes from hers, he held out his hand. “I am Ivar, Captain of the–” Abruptly he stopped, a strange look crossing his face. “Have we met?”

Gwen tried to step back, but she was already wedged against a barrel and couldn’t move. Pushing a wisp of hair back up under her bonnet, she held her body straight to mask the trembling inside and replied, “I don’t believe so.” Thankfully, before Ivar could press the question further, a tall, bearded fellow approached, scarcely noticing Gwen or Elizabeth.   
“The Spaniard got a count of the boxes and we are takin’ the Draco Cap’n shore now.”  He nodded to the man, and then gestured to the ladies. 

“Looks like we’ve got a couple of ladies not wanting to come ashore, Ubbe,” he said. 

Elizabeth piped up, “Oh we want to go ashore all right. In fact, one of us wants to get home right away.” The handsome man called Ivar took a step closer to Elizabeth, and she began to trembling in fear. 

Crowding her against the barrel, he demanded, “And where is home?” Gwen elbowed her in the side, but Elizabeth was honest and had begun to answer before she could stop her mouth. 

“Castle Green in the south of England, sir.” Both Elizabeth and Gwen could tell by the expression on his face that this was the wrong answer. 

“Ubbe,” ordered Ivar, “take them to the Gullhartja.” Ubbe’ eyes widened – almost as if he had just realized they were women. Ivar looked at Gwen and Elizabeth and said,  “I’ll be   
speaking to both of you shortly,” then turned his back to them. Ubbe turned to the ladies and with obvious amusement, gestured for them to follow him. 

Elizabeth shot a worried look at Gwen as Gwen leaned to her friend and whispered, ”I think these men are real pirates!” As they left the ship and walked down the dock, they saw Santiago and Ivar talking with Captain Dunnelle – and Captain Dunnelle was protesting strongly. As they approached, Captain Dunnelle became even more animated – yelling and pointing at the two women. Ivar finally pulled out a cutlass and put the tip to Captain Dunnelle’s throat. 

“They will return with me!” shouted Captain Dunnelle in a vain attempt to out-argue Sea Wolf. He believed that if they were locked away with these pirates, the two women would never see Castle Green again. Life as a slave amongst pirates was the worst punishment there was. Dunnelle wished he had made the women keep their male disguises on – at least then they could have hidden amongst his crew. All he could do now was hope the ladies would keep their wits about them. He watched as Ubbe lead the two women towards him, their long dresses flowing and their sweet perfume filling the air. 

“What’s going on, Captain Dunnelle?” Gwen asked quietly, slowing her pace as they were being escorted past. Sea Wolf and Santiago were now talking about something in Spanish, and Dunnelle carefully leaned back from the point of the cutlass and bent toward Gwen. Elizabeth was standing close enough to hear what he said. 

“The man beside me is none other than the famous pirate, Sea Wolf, and he is taking both of you to his ship, the Gullhartja, for questioning!” Elizabeth looked at the dreaded pirate and felt the lustful stares of the now-menacing crew. She took a breath and held it, fearing if she took another one she would be sick to her stomach. Her head spun wildly, and she lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

When Elizabeth came to, she found herself bound and gagged to a ship’s mast which had been buried and secured in the ground. The Dragon was nowhere to be seen, but Gwen was next to her, wriggling furiously at her ties. They could see a group of pirates working to repair a ship that was afloat in a small inlet, not more than a hundred feet away. A new mast was being hoisted to the battered ship’s deck, and Gwen could hear curse words drifting across the inlet. The men, while doing various duties, took turns gawking at the lady prisoners – a female form was a treat for these scoundrels. Gwen found scant relief from the guard laying only a few feet away, sleeping on a broken crate. It was the bearded man who had escorted them from The Dragon, his loud snoring adding to his decrepit presence. A strong voice shot out orders aboard the ship, and turning her head, Gwen saw the handsome pirate who had boarded The Dragon, and knew without a doubt that he was indeed the famous Sea Wolf. 

Her heart pounded with the knowledge that she was captured by this cutthroat – but was it the danger she was in that caused her heart to stir, or the brazen look of this pirate Captain? Gwen watched him move with ease amongst the crew. It had been widely reported that this shameless pirate had murdered many – including women and children. But his movements, his stance and the way he gestured made him seem quite the opposite, almost regal. He is definitely handsome, Gwen thought. She watched as Sea Wolf stripped off his shirt – a raw display of manliness, a display that Gwen was not used to. The sight was not lost on Elizabeth either, her brown eyes fixed on Sea Wolf’s muscular build. But underneath their admiring gazes – there remained a look of fear in Elizabeth and Gwen’s eyes.

Their sleeping pirate guard woke himself with a loud snort, accompanied by a whistle from his nose, which seemed to scare him into talking to himself. “Get the women on deck, Cap’n? Right away!” Ubbe agreed, before he realized he was dreaming. “Oh, your still here?” he said groggily, and shook his head as he woke, laughing as he looked at the women. “Guess you might be starving,” he said. Ubbe left them both, still bound and gagged, and returned shortly with a chunk of hard cheese and some bread. He poured three glasses of wine, inching closer to the ladies. “Now, be good girls, cause I’m gonna take off your gag and you can have some food and wash it down with this wine.” Gwen turned her head to Elizabeth, who returned her quizzical look. Ubbe walked closer and untied Elizabeth’s gag and she let out a long scream. He jumped back, losing his balance in the sand. She continued to shriek and the crew stopped working, heads turning in the direction of the two women. 

Gwen was still gagged, and tried in vain to catch Elizabeth’s eye to calm her down, but Elizabeth went on and on, yelling at the top of her lungs, obviously scared out of her wits. Gwen fearfully watched Sea Wolf as he slid down a rope from his ship and waded to shore, then dashed along the beach, a handful of crewmen following. He arrived out of breath, his long brown hair damp and tied back with perspiration, looking at the bedraggled group with Ubbe sitting awkwardly between the two women. 

Sea Wolf barked, “What in heaven’s name are you doing, Ubbe?” He stood over the three of them with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. Elizabeth had finally stopped screaming, and Gwen was worried that she might’ve stopped breathing again as well. 

“I was giving them some food, and when I took off that one’s gag, she started the wailin’. I swear, I didn’t touch a hair.” Ubbe stood up awkwardly, stepping away from the women and began rubbing his head. The Captain leaned over to Elizabeth and looked directly into her brown eyes. She immediately cast her eyes down to escape his fierce gaze, her body taut with fear. Then he turned to Gwen and put his face close to hers, obviously trying the same tactic with his piercing blue stare, but Gwen firmly stared back, a challenge in her eyes. He untied her gag and put a finger to her lips. She could feel a rough callous on his forefinger press lightly against her upper lip. Nervously, she held her breath. 

“There’ll be no more screaming, right?” he said as a command, rather than a question. Gwen shook her head but never took her eyes from his. “And you won’t be trying to escape,” he stated as he pulled out a long, sharp knife from his belt and bent toward the women. 

Both women closed their eyes and shied away as far as they could, afraid of the worst. They gratefully found that his intentions were to free them from their bindings, as he quickly cut the ropes that bound them to the mast. Ubbe moved in and shoved a plate of food at each of them. The Captain turned to his ship and waved at the new boatswain, who called for a meal break. Men seemed to appear from nowhere, climbing down masts, emerging from below deck – all coming ashore for food and rest. “When I finish eating, I’ll want a word with both of you,” Sea Wolf said, and he strode off to eat with his men. Ubbe sat back on his crate and loaded a pipe, occasionally making a face at Gwen and Elizabeth to keep them in line. 

Elizabeth whispered as she ate her bread, “That Captain is as rough as he’s rumored to be. I don’t think we’ll make it out alive, Gwen. Or worse yet, we’ll probably be handed from one to the next, before they cut our throats – or we’ll be made to walk the plank.” Gwen rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t be silly, Elizabeth. If he wanted to kill us, he would already have done so. He’s not going to let anything happen to us. As long as we have something to trade, we’ll be safe.”   
Elizabeth looked panicked, “Gwen! You can’t be serious. What do we have to trade, other than… Oh, I can’t even think of it – look at them!” They watched as the hungry men devoured their meals, most of whom apparently having never seen, let alone used a knife or fork, wiping dirty beards encrusted with yesterday’s lunch on their sleeves. Some were spitting, and many belched as they guzzled down their ales and wines. There seemed to be a contest of who could belch the loudest, and each contestant set the group off into fits of laughter. Only one of the motley crew reminded the ladies of the refinement of home, and that was the Captain himself. Though he enjoyed watching the men at their crude, bodily-function competition, he did not participate, but concentrated on his meal, eating off a plate with a fork, and wiping his mouth with a cloth. 

Gwen grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, “Don’t worry. It’s not our bodies that we’ll trade, it’s our minds.” 

“Whatever do you mean? I’m sure that this group can’t wait to hear my recital of Thomas Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy, or mayhap a poetry reading of Chaucer’s’ Wife of Bath – then we can have a philosophical discussion about the true meaning of what women want!” Elizabeth said sarcastically. The Captain rose and the men stopped their antics.   
“Ubbe! Bring the women to my tent.” The men whistled and howled, some clapped and cheered, all thinking the same thought – for the first time, their Captain, who had previously been so discreet with his philandering, was about to let loose. Even Gwen started to panic. What if she was wrong? What if this strange pirate Captain was going to use them and toss them aside into the relentless sea? Or worse yet, hand them to that gang of hungry pirates. Ubbe escorted Gwen and Elizabeth toward the Captain’s tent, past the jeers and cat-calls of the crew. As if walking the gauntlet, the women said nothing and followed Ubbe through the group of pirates; all eyes focused on the women’s bodices as they bent to enter the Captain’s tent. Ubbe led them into the tent and had them stand before Sea Wolf, who was seated at a large wooden table. 

“Here they are Cap’n,” said Ubbe, crossing back to the door of the tent. Sea Wolf pointed to two makeshift chairs across from his table, and the ladies cautiously sat across from him. 

“Thank you, Ubbe, that will be all,” Sea Wolf told him. Ubbe shifted from foot to foot and fidgeted with his beard. He then let out a loud and unexpected belch. Both Gwen and Elizabeth looked disgusted. The Captain pointed a stern finger toward the exit. “Thank you, Ubbe!” he bellowed, and out the man went. Sea Wolf paused and sat back in his chair, examining the two women with his intense blue eyes, his muscular physique an intimidating presence. His silence made Elizabeth uncomfortable, and she had to look away. Gwen, though, was mesmerized and realized that this was no heathen sitting before her. Breaking into her thoughts he spoke. 

“Why do you not breathe when I look at you?” he asked. “Do I frighten you?” Gwen gulped. How could she answer this? Was it that obvious? Of course he frightened her, but not in the manner he thought he did. She was now strangely at ease. She glanced at his hands, hanging nonchalantly off the arms of his chair, an air of total control about him. She had a fleeting thought of how those fingers would feel against her. 

Abruptly Elizabeth blurted out, “Well, you sure enough frighten me, I’ll tell you!” There was a short pause, and then he slammed his hand down on the table and laughed.   
“Good!” he said, still smiling. The tension had been broken now, and both Gwen and Elizabeth began to grin – this was not your average pirate. 

“My name is Ivar, and I know that my reputation likely precedes me. You may know me by other names, but please, call me Ivar. All I ask is that you hear me out.” His gaze lingered on Gwen for slightly longer than necessary, then he turned again toward Elizabeth. Slowly, under the leadership of Ubbe, a group of crewmen snuck up ever so stealthily to the flap of the tent and began listening. They gave each other the thumbs up sign – all was going well inside the tent with the Captain and their two female captives. 

Sea Wolf then returned his gaze to Gwen, this time with a quizzical expression on his face. “Don’t I know you?” he asked, as he wracked his brain trying to remember where he had seen this remarkable creature. “You seem… strangely familiar.” Gwen fumbled with her thoughts. Normally self-assured, it was suddenly difficult to form a sentence – even to utter a coherent word. When she looked at him, he seemed familiar to her as well, but she knew this was not possible. ‘Perhaps it was from the wanted posters,’ she thought. 

“I don’t think so sir. Where would the likes of you…” she stopped short, knowing she was out of place. The slight downward movement of his eyes was the only indication that he was upset. This pirate was offended by my simple words, she thought to herself. 

“Let me get straight to the point. I know especially well the place where you two ladies reside. I also know that there are men there, a few very untrustworthy and devious men, who mask themselves with the face of refinement. They’re running an operation that is tearing apart the Spanish economy. When discovered, these actions will likely spark the fire of war again between Spain and England. The scars of the previous war have not yet healed, and these masqueraders only wish to open old wounds. It would be in your best interest, and that of your country, to share with me the vital information I need about the goings-on at Castle Green.” He leaned toward them over the table. 

“I don’t see what this has to do with us, if you please. We are just two ladies who know nothing of politics, or of military rendezvous,” Gwen responded in her best demure voice and with an innocent smile. Ivar shook his head and glanced down at the table, wondering how best to approach these women. 

“Do you know the Count?” 

“No, but I think he’s still alive,” said Gwen. 

“Is the Count’s chief adviser a rogue named LeVelant?” Ivar inquired. 

Elizabeth piped up, “I’m not sure, but I think he left for the Continent,” she said quite assertively, as if it were true. 

“You are both lying! Why are you protecting them?” he demanded in his most forceful tone, and leaned further across the table, his electric blue eyes glazed with fury. Elizabeth saw his personality change in a quick heartbeat and shivered. She had just seen why he was called Sea Wolf, and was now sure that they were about to be sliced up and fed to the sharks. Gwen on the other hand smiled, not wanting to show fear. She knew she’d hit a nerve. 

“I am protecting only what is mine, and that is my home and my security. I would not go against the Count, for he is a good and just man.” She folded her arms across her chest, which had the unexpected effect of lifting up her breasts. Caught slightly off guard by the abrupt response, but more so by the heaving bosom, Ivar swallowed hard as he found himself staring for a short moment into Gwen’s cleavage. He stammered for a second, but then covered up with anger. 

“The Count is not a just man. And neither are the men who surround him. Now, I can make this easy and pleasant for you, in which case you will be released and returned home. Or I can make it difficult. The choice is yours…” Gwen was furious that this rough male would speak ill of the Count and then threaten their lives without giving it a second thought. Her only response was to place her arms down at her sides, mimicking his posture, looking cool and confident. She sighed, and then ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it back into place. Noticing his eyes on her, she thought, He finds me attractive. Well, he’s not likely to lop off my head if he finds it’s appealing. 

“We will do it the hard way,” she said with a casual smirk, and leaned back like the cat that had just swallowed the canary. Elizabeth gasped and looked at Gwen – not believing the impertinence of her friend. Sea Wolf looked surprised and grinned back at her, his eyes alive, obviously planning his next move. He took a deep breath and, as if by magic, produced a knife, which he slammed into the table. Elizabeth screamed. The men listening outside jumped at the sudden, shrill noise and bumped into one another, each vying to get closer to the tent flap so they could hear better. 

A loud and horribly smelly explosion shot through the air. Ubbe, who was normally proud of his bodily functions, spat and shook his head at the accidental flatulence, which exploded like a cannon. The Captain ran around the table and threw open the tarp. 

“Ubbe!” The crew stood at attention the best they could, except for the boatswain, who had had so many cups of wine that he fell onto his face. Sea Wolf turned back to the women and said, “Take that woman and tie her up. Let the spiders eat at her until the other one talks.” Ubbe nodded and let loose a whistle, as if to foreshadow what was about to occur. The Captain grabbed Elizabeth, dragged her to the flap and threw her to Ubbe. Ubbe winked and grinned at the Captain as he dragged Elizabeth off, kicking and screaming. A long wooden board was dragged to a flat area of ground. Elizabeth was quickly tied to the plank, which was then laid across a table, conveniently within earshot of the Captain’s tent. Elizabeth’s bosom heaved with each breath, and the men surrounded her and watched in anticipation, knowing that the entertainment was about to begin. The crewmen knew that ‘spiders’ was a code word for scaring prisoners into talking. Ubbe kept a large, empty cigar case as a home for his pet tarantula family; each one named and well fed by the first mate. 

They were tame and relatively harmless unless provoked – but they were horrendous-looking, with exotic hairy appendages, and front pincers that looked like they’d bite off a man’s leg. Needless to say, many captives found their tongue and expressed themselves quickly when introduced face-to-face to Ubbe’ pets. The buccaneers were quite certain that it would not be any different in this case, especially since it was a woman. Sea Wolf pushed Gwen to the entrance so she could see Elizabeth – her friend’s writhing body strapped to a plank, men leaning over her, expectant looks of lust across their faces. He then pulled Gwen back into the canvas room and thrust her into a chair, grasping her tightly by her shoulders. 

The change in him was almost supernatural – he looked at her with such ferocity that Gwen almost didn’t recognize him. His blue eyes were maniacal, his hair seeming to stand on end like a wild dog’s when it’s about to attack. His grip ever tightening, his hands now seemed rough. He leaned down, and Gwen could feel his hot breath as he looked deep into her eyes. “You will tell me what I want to know, or your friend will suffer because of your stubbornness!” he said loudly. 

“I know you are called Sea Wolf, and a wolf is what you are!” she cried as she threw her head back. Gwen sensed that it was fruitless to resist – what chance had two women against so many fierce men? What information could they possess that was so important? Without warning, he pulled her up to him, running his right hand around the small of her back, drawing her closer. Ivar could feel her heart beating against his chest, the faint scent of old perfume surrounding her. The fragrance of her skin was almost too much to bear. He pressed his body completely against hers, now feeling every part of her, as she could him. There was no struggle, no physical resistance, but Gwen had drawn her head back to distance herself from Sea Wolf’s wanton advances, her downcast eyes averting his frenzied gaze. Her breath came in short gasps. He was now holding her head in one hand while his other arm held her tightly. He leaned so close she could feel his hot breath warm her face – and then Elizabeth began to scream. The scream was blood-curdling, like nothing Gwen had ever heard before. 

“Get off me,” Gwen yelled, and pushed him away with all her might. Sea Wolf, once again, pushed her into a chair. But as she was being forced back, the ties from her bodice became entangled in a buckle on Sea Wolf’s belt. Gwen tried to run to the door, but was pulled back by the restraint of her bodice, while Sea Wolf fumbled madly with his belt buckle, trying to extricate himself from the now tangled jumble. 

“Stop!” he bellowed, frustrated by the entire mess. He reached to the table and grabbed his knife, carefully trying to avoid cutting himself or Gwen as she wriggled about. Elizabeth shrieked again, and this time she cried Gwen’s name. It was too much for Gwen, and she pulled back her arm and let loose a slap with amazing accuracy across the face of Sea Wolf – just as he came down with the knife to cut them free of each other. The movement separated them with such force that they both fell backwards, with Gwen falling to the side of the tent, her legs sticking out beneath it. Gwen yelled, Elizabeth screamed, and the pirates laughed heartily. Ivar cursed as he got up and ran out the flap of the tent.   
Gwen had already managed to escape from underneath the tent. She lifted her skirt hem and sprinted to Elizabeth. The men parted their circle as Gwen approached and there she saw Elizabeth tied across a plank on a makeshift table standing four feet off the ground.  Suddenly, she stopped, frozen by what she saw crawling toward Elizabeth’s neck. It was the largest spider Gwen had ever seen, with hairy appendages that made the creature seem like it was from another world. The black, hairy arachnid turned, and slowly crept back along Elizabeth’s torso, then returned and paused on Elizabeth’s chest. Elizabeth looked up at Gwen in horror, frozen with fear. The men grinned gleefully and nudged each other. Gwen sprang into action. 

A thick-legged Moor had his back to her and was clapping the beat of a sea-shanty. His cutlass hung loosely in a swath of dirty, crimson-colored linen. She grabbed the sword out of his belt and whirled it around to his neck, pointing the tip under his chin. The song abruptly stopped and his hands fell to his sides. Immediate silence fell over the crowd. The Captain approached, panting and frustrated. Gwen backed away from the Moor and he coolly smiled, revealing several gold teeth, a front one inlaid with an abalone skull and crossbones. She held the sword with one hand, and knelt down to untie her friend, never taking her eyes off the men. They surrounded her, and she knew that escape was fruitless, but they had to at least try. She could feel a trickle of sweat falling from her brow, but tried not to let them see she was afraid. She remembered the fiasco in the dining hall with Bard and Gad, but this was far more dangerous – this was real. 

Gwen had not noticed that her bodice had come undone in her struggle with the Captain. The men, however, were quite pleased by her ignorance, for with every movement she made, the lacing loosened. The more she circled holding out her blade, the more the men smiled. They all seemed to be focused on her clothing. Some were even pointing and laughing. Hadn’t they ever seen a woman with a sword, she wondered? The gold-toothed Moor winked at Gwen, who was now dripping with perspiration. A few men of the crew were stepping closer to her, grinning all the while. Her bodice lace was now quite loose, and though Gwen didn’t seem to notice, the men certainly did. Ubbe began slowly creeping up from behind Gwen, his eyes moving from Gwen’s back to the large spider now lying quietly in Elizabeth’s cleavage.  Elizabeth saw Ubbe out of the corner of her eye, crawling toward her. Meanwhile, Gwen now had her eyes locked on the Captain, who was trying to convince her to lower her cutlass. Sea Wolf’s gaze was diverted for a moment from Gwen, to behind her and Ubbe. The action occurred in an instant. Elizabeth said Gwen’s name in a whisper, but that was enough for her to spin around, sword in hand. At the same time, Ubbe stood up and grabbed the spider off Elizabeth’s chest. Gwen’s sword swung and caught Ubbe at waist height, and the tip ripped straight through the tie of his pantaloons. His pants fell straight down to his knees. In embarrassment, Ubbe dropped the spider on the sand, but still couldn’t get his trousers up fast enough. Regrettably both women saw his full regalia. The crew broke into gales of laughter. Ubbe turned and ran, his face as red as a sailor’s delightful night sky. Gwen dropped her guard, mortified at the revolting sight of the man known as Ubbe. The boatswain called after Ubbe, “There goes Long John Sliver!” The Moor yelled, “Betcha be whistlin’ another tune now, mahn!” The Captain grabbed the cutlass that now hung loosely from Gwen’s hand. Everyone snapped back to reality. 

Sea Wolf could see that Ubbe’ spider display had been a complete failure, and ordered Elizabeth to be untied. He walked both women eastward toward a path in the low undergrowth, heading away from the beach and his crew. He called out to two of his men to join them, one being the gold-toothed Moor, and the other a round, red-faced man wearing a skullcap. 

“These two men will escort you back to the port where you came from. The Dragon is moored there, and you can stay at an inn near the center of town until it sets sail tomorrow. I daresay the Captain of the ship will be pleased to see you unharmed. He can set sail, safely and with my permission, back to Castle Green, but you must return with something that is to be delivered to the Count, and the Count only.” He reached into an inside pocket and produced a white handkerchief with his initials boldly embroidered in the corner. “Hand this to your Count. If anyone questions your motives, or interferes en route, you need only show this handkerchief for safe passage.” He fingered a coin. “This will suffice for your expenses,” he continued, handing Gwen a silver doubloon. She took the handkerchief and passed it to Elizabeth, then slapped the coin from his outstretched hand, sending it flying into the shrubbery. 

“We don’t want your blood money!” she said, her eyes blazing. His eyes narrowing, he sighed, then grabbed Gwen by her bodice strings, which, unbeknownst to Gwen, was still untied and loose. 

The lace tightened as he pulled her toward him like a dog on a leash. She winced in surprise and embarrassment. He leaned close to her, breathing softly in her ear, making her almost lose her balance and certainly some sense. He paused just long enough to catch her off-guard in anticipation, then said, “You might want to keep the girls tied up,” and tightening her laces, he made a knot. Her face flushed and she spat at him. He grabbed her by her hair and planted a kiss on her lips, long and sensual. When he released his grip, she was reeling, wild-eyed as a rabid dog. “Take them away!” he ordered with a wave of his hand. The buccaneer escorts grabbed the women’s wrists and pulled them toward the path. Gwen turned her head and caught the Captain’s eye. 

“I think you are despicable!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. Ivar smiled as he heard his crew laughing from afar. This was the most beautiful, brave woman he had ever known. If circumstances were different, he would have asked her to join him. But he hadn’t even found out her name…


	6. Chapter 6

After a long walk through the countryside back to El Toro Negro, the two pirate escorts dumped Gwen and Elizabeth unceremoniously at the door of the tavern. “Now what are we supposed to do?” whined Elizabeth. Her feet hurt from the long walk, and she was tired and scared. “Gwen, we don’t know this town – and I don’t understand most of the language here,” Elizabeth continued dejectedly, as she looked over her shoulder at a couple of shady characters walking toward the tavern. 

“The first thing we need to do is locate The Dragon and Captain Dunnelle,” Gwen responded logically. She knew that this adventure had been extremely arduous on her best friend, who was not quite as daring as Gwen. “He’ll make sure we get home, and hopefully some rest, too,” Gwen continued, as she put a comforting arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders.  
“Gwen,” Elizabeth’s voice quivered, as she glanced nervously at the heavy black door to the El Toro Negro, “please tell me that we don’t have to go in there…” Understanding her friend’s hesitancy, Gwen offered, “I’ll go in on my own, if you’d rather. I won’t be but a moment. We just need to find someone who speaks English better than we speak Spanish. If we can locate the docks, we should be able to find Captain Dunnelle.” In her mind she added, Assuming The Dragon hasn’t left without us. Just as Elizabeth was about to protest her friend’s intent to go inside the dark pub, the immense front door swung open and the smell of stale ale and smoke billowed from the doorway. Two men walked out into the sunlight and stretched as though they had been sitting for hours. Gwen immediately recognized them as crewmen from The Dragon. Elizabeth ran to one of the crewmen and hugged him as if he were a long-lost relative, while the other watched with some trepidation, until he realized who the grubby women were. The unattached crewman raced back into the bar and emerged with Captain Dunnelle in tow, a look of disbelief on his face. 

“Thank heaven’s you’re alive!” he exclaimed as he barreled through the door and past the crewmen. Enveloping Gwen in a big bear hug, he explained, “I organized a rescue party, but just as we were to embark from The Dragon, my men and I were detained by Santiago. We were not released until just a short time ago! Let me look at you…” Stepping back, he continued, “Have you been hurt? Santiago promised us that you would not be harmed,” he quickly added, a look of guilt crossing his face for being in the tavern instead of combing the countryside for them. 

“No, no,” Gwen assured Captain Dunnelle. “We are both fine; but tired and hungry.” Dunnelle could see that the ladies were exhausted, and offered to bring them to La Casita Blanca, a nearby inn. He told them that he would send the crewmen on ahead to the ship to start making her ready to sail, now that the ladies had been returned. He would be sleeping on board as well, but he would send escorts for Gwen and Elizabeth in the morning. 

“We will sail at dawn,” he told the anxious ladies. “And, we won’t be calling on any other ports this trip. It’s straight back to Castle Green,” he assured them. Elizabeth was greatly relieved by the news that they would be homeward-bound in the morning. As the trio made their way to the inn, Gwen told him the story of their imprisonment and eventual release from Sea Wolf. 

“And Sea Wolf has given his word that we may return to England without interference,” Gwen concluded, leaving out the details of her last few minutes with Sea Wolf, and the plight with her bodice. A large matron and her youthful son greeted the weary travelers at the door to the inn. After bidding them a restful evening, the Captain left their hostess to show the ladies to their room. It was too good to be true – their room was spacious and clean, with tall ceilings and crisp white walls. The fireplace was lit, taking the chill off the late afternoon air. On a dressing table beneath a window sat a porcelain pitcher of water, and beside the basin was a vase full of brilliant red roses. The room, though sparsely decorated, was lovely, and had the one thing both women were most anxious for – two beds. Opaque cloth hung from the ceiling and draped the four-poster canopy beds. Each mattress seemed a plush, feather-filled oasis, adorned with large, white pillows and a warm, down comforter – a stark contrast to the converted storage room they had used as a bedchamber aboard The Dragon. After accepting the friends’ gratitude, the Senora bid them good night. As the door closed behind the matron, the ladies collapsed on their beds and let out an audible sigh of contentment. Both were surprised to find such fine appointments in this small town. For at least five minutes, they did not speak. Lying quietly on the bed and listening to the soft crackle of the fire, each was lost in her own recollection of their recent escapade. The silence ended, as both began to speak at once. 

“Elizabeth, I…” started Gwen. 

“We’re so …” started Elizabeth. Laughing softly, Gwen bade Elizabeth to continue. “We’re so lucky to be alive, Gwen. What horrible creatures those pirates are! They’re nothing like the romantic soldiers of the sea I’ve read of or heard about. They’re dirty and smelly–” 

Gwen cut her off, continuing, “…And they make rude noises and put spiders on you and drop their pants in front of you and call you horrid names!” Elizabeth jumped back in. 

“It’s just appalling! And what of that Captain – Sea Wolf? What a heinous man! A braggart and an intimidator!” She stopped for a moment, lost in her diatribe. “But you know, he had the walk and the manners of a gentleman – when he cared to show them.” Elizabeth paused, as if reconsidering what she’d just said. 

Then Gwen stated what Elizabeth had just realized, “He had a familiar look about him, too.” 

“And what of that handkerchief with someone’s initials on it?” Elizabeth added, “I bet it’s from some woman that he slaughtered, and I’ll bet…” 

“Elizabeth.” Gwen cut her off so softly that Elizabeth was forced to turn and face her friend, unsure if she had really heard her. “Elizabeth, I think I’m in love.” 

“Gwen, you’ve got to be joking! The man’s a pirate, for mercy’s sake!” Elizabeth rolled her tired eyes and flopped back on her bed. 

“When he held me it was as if my body knew his. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think this is the one I’ve been dreaming of.” Gwen’s eyes glazed over as she thought back to his touch and remembered him grabbing her bodice. Many hours passed while Gwen paced, speaking of the confusion in her heart, and Elizabeth listened. It was now three-thirty in the morning, and still Gwen refused to let her friend get the sleep she so desperately craved. “But Elizabeth, don’t you see? It can work, I know it can,” Gwen implored for the umpteenth time since she had come up with her latest plot.

“No, Gwen. It’s too dangerous, and I will have nothing to do with it,” Elizabeth rejoined tiredly. “I repeat, I’ll have nothing more to do with your plots and schemes,” she reiterated. “And I am not going to be making that journey home alone. How would I explain it to the Court – or the Count, for that matter? Won’t you please just let it go and get some rest? You’ll see – after some sleep, you’ll feel much better, and you’ll realize that your plan is just too dangerous.” Finally Gwen sat down on the edge of her bed, and leaned back against the dark wooden headboard, sighing. 

“Fine. I’ll go with you, but just so you don’t have to be by yourself on the passage home,” she said. 

“Good. Thank you. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses,” Elizabeth said with relief. “I promise things will look better in the light of day. Now will you please lie down and get some sleep? The Senora will be waking us too soon as it is.” Elizabeth closed her eyes without waiting for a response from Gwen. A few minutes silently passed, and Elizabeth reluctantly opened her eyes again to see if her friend had followed her lead. With the soft light of the fire dancing across Gwen’s face, Elizabeth saw twin beads of tears rolling down her face.   
Sighing softly, she resignedly asked, “You really think it will work?” Gwen turned to her friend, hugging a pillow in her arms as a tear fell from her cheek. 

“I’m not certain. I only know that he has a pull on me that is stronger than the moon on the tides.” Gwen sniffled. “If I don’t at least try, I’ll never know, will I?” Elizabeth reached across to Gwen’s bed and squeezed her friend’s hand. 

“Okay. I’ll help you.” 

A few short hours later, two British crewmen from The Dragon arrived to escort the women to the ship. This time when they boarded The Dragon, Gwen and Elizabeth were dressed as women, and the crew had been warned not to bother them. Captain Dunnelle, who met the women at the gangplank, was concerned to see Gwen huddled up in a dark shawl and not behaving in her usual vivacious manner. “Not to worry, Captain Dunnelle,” Elizabeth said, putting an arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “She is feeling a little under the weather today. I think it’s best if we just go below deck and let her get some more rest, the poor dear.” And off the two ladies went to their converted storage room and their impromptu beds. When the ship was safely out of the harbor and on its way past the breakwater pier, the two women quietly snuck back on deck. 

With sack in hand and a quick glance around to ensure that no one was watching, Gwen quickly slid over the side rail and jumped overboard. A few seconds of silence was followed by a loud splash, and then Gwen started swimming away from the boat, back toward the harbor. From the crow’s nest, a crewmember yelled, “Man overboard!” and the rest of the crew quickly threw lines into the sea. 

Captain Dunnelle called to her as she swam, imploring her to take hold of one of the lines, but to no avail. With his spyglass focused, he noticed that the shawl had fallen from her head and that it was, in fact, not Gwen at all! In fact, the figure swimming away bore a striking resemblance to the Senora’s son! Lifting his spyglass to the docks, he saw a figure waving at the ship. Looking along the ship’s side rails, he spied Elizabeth waving frantically back, a smile on her face and a tear in her eye.


	7. Chapter 7

Gwen stayed on at La Casita Blanca for ten days, before finally receiving word that the pirates were readying to set sail. She barely had enough money to pay the Senora and her son, but they were fair, and grateful for her payment. Gwen was very careful not to expose her plan, and young Pedro had proven himself to be a more-than-capable spy. She quietly learned that the mainmast on the Gullhartja had been repaired, the hull damage had been patched and tested, and the ship was now ready to sail. 

Santiago Morales, the tall exotic Spaniard, had ensured that news of the pirate’s arrival had not leaked from the village or surrounding area. But being a wise and wily pirate himself, he knew that it was only human nature to talk, and it was also human nature to be greedy. This really translated into ‘never stay in one place for long’, and he knew it would be safest if the Gullhartja left as soon as she was able. The crew had been given orders to be ready to sail on the morning tide, so that night the pirates converged on the village in a large group, wanting to indulge in at least a few drinks and hoping for a squeeze or two from the local tavern girls, before hitting the high seas. They were restless from being on land for so long, and their pent-up energy spilled out into the street, where a few of the rabble-rousers partied. The El Toro Negro barely had enough room for the locals, let alone the pirates. 

Ivar sat at the back of the bar with his old friend Santiago, discussing their plans and telling stories. He told him about their adventure with the ladies from The Dragon, and Santiago broke into laughter when he told him of Ubbe’s torture using Claribelle, the pet tarantula. And then of course, there was the one’s problem with her bodice – showing off the bald-headed twins. Of course, he had left out how good she had felt in his arms and how her bravado excited him… thoughts of her kept returning to his mind. Santiago almost fell off his chair laughing, and then said he also had information to share about the women. He had spoken to the Captain of The Dragon, and had found out that the spunky one’s name was Gwen. Interestingly enough, he also learned that she had stayed on in the village and had not left with the ship. To add to the mystery, she had paid the boy named Pedro to ask questions around town about the pirates and their plans. 

If anything was going on in this village, Santiago knew about it, no matter how secretive people thought they were being. “She stayed in the village?” Ivar asked curiously. Before Santiago could respond, the tavern door opened, and an unknown young man sauntered into the bar, with big eyes and a dirty face. His mannerisms seemed a bit odd and out of place for this part of the country. As he moved toward the bar, he looked around the shadowed tavern, and accidentally bumped into Ubbe, who was carrying two full pints.   
“Hey there, watch where your goin’!” Ubbe barked, as he turned to his table and set down the drinks. He didn’t recognize me, Gwen elatedly realized, as she fixed her cap a bit tighter on her head and surreptitiously wiped Ubbe’ spittle from her cheek. She remembered not to wipe too hard, for fear of rubbing off the charcoal that she had used to imitate stubble. The cloth binding her breasts was uncomfortably tight, but she was determined to endure this physical pain if it would help her to get aboard ship. She knew that even her best attempts at cross-dressing would be noticed if she were put in a compromising position, but the fear of being caught was outweighed by the opportunity to get on board a real pirate ship. 

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and looked straight ahead, more conscious than ever of not tilting her body and exposing any feminine lines or movements. She sidled up to the bar and grumbled, “El agua vieja” to the bartender in her best baritone. He gave her a quizzical look and rattled off something in Spanish. She returned a simple, “Si,” and hoped for the best. The gold-toothed Moor, whom she had learned was called Sofala after the Caribbean island his family had come from, was seated next to her at the bar. 

“Give dis boy a strong one,” he smiled at the bartender. “He look like he need it.” Sofala slapped Gwen on the back, nearly sending her flying over the bar. Sofala let out a deep, hearty laugh. “What be yer name, boy?” he grinned, revealing his skull and crossbones grin. Gwen took her drink, acknowledging the bartender with a nod.  She turned toward Sofala, hiding her eyes so as not to betray herself. 

“I’m called Nicholas, after my father,” lied Gwen, and fervently hoped he would not recognize her as the woman who had held a sword to his throat. Sofala raised his glass to meet hers. 

“Well den, young Nicholas, here’s to ya!” he said, and then clanking his mug against Gwen’s, gulped down the dark amber liquid. Following suit, Gwen swallowed deeply and immediately began coughing uncontrollably, tears coming to her eyes. Gwen’s throat burned from the strong alcohol she had gulped, and try as she might, she could not stifle the cough. Sofala laughed and pounded her on the back again. “So, what brings da young Nicholas in ta dis place?” asked Sofala, once Gwen’s coughing subsided. Thinking quickly, Gwen realized that this might be the best chance she would have to realize her dream. If she could convince Sofala, she would be that much closer to her goal. 

“Employment on the Gullhartja,” she stated, and wanting to appear more experienced than she was, bravely took another drink from her mug. It slid down much easier this time, and she began to feel a boldness she hadn’t possessed before. Sofala smiled. 

“Ah,” he said, and he pointed toward a dark corner of the tavern. “You be wantin’ to speak with dat mahn.” Following his finger, Gwen noticed the high, black boots of Sea Wolf propped on a chair, his figure veiled by shadows. He appeared to be speaking to another person, but she could not be certain of this, as the corner was shrouded in darkness.   
Her heart began to race. She had come so far; would she be able to get aboard the Gullhartja, or be stuck in this tiny, Spanish seaside village? She fervently hoped for the former. As she daringly slid off her chair and moved toward his table, the pirate Sea Wolf looked up, as did the person he was sitting with. As she got closer, she recognized the other man as Santiago Morales. Fortunately, Santiago had not yet recognized her. Gwen was making her way through the crowded, smoky room and edging past Ubbe’ seat when she overheard him lamenting about someone named ‘Claribelle’ and muttering aloud, crying in his ale. A commotion arose from the top of the stairs, and a roar sounded from the patrons when a band of Spanish women came dancing down, castanets beating out a sensuous rhythm and shoes tapping on the floor. 

The men were frenzied, watching the women twirl, stomp, wriggle and raise their skirts as they danced around the room. One of the dancers was hoisted atop Ubbe’s table, where she let loose her long, shiny black hair and spun dizzyingly as she moved to the claps of the men. Someone pushed her toward Ubbe, who caught her in his lap as the boatswain cried, “She’ll make ya forget about Claribelle!” The men cheered and laughed and danced with the women, and Gwen found herself stuck unwittingly in the center of the brouhaha. She very nearly lost her cap from the top of her head, but her reflexes were quick, and she grabbed it before it fell off. Fearing that the crush of merry-makers might cause her to lose more of her disguise, she bent down and crawled under the tables to get through the room. The swirling skirts, smells of smoke, dirty men and ale made her lose her sense of direction, and she ended up under the corner table – and almost in the lap of Santiago. Trying to calm the pounding of her heart, she sat quietly, gathering her courage. The Captain and Santiago had been watching the new arrival, and knowing she was under their table, began talking – apparently about an old friend of theirs, an unfortunate pirate named Arturo. 

“Yes,” she heard the Captain say, “poor Arturo now has a pegleg, a hook, and an eye-patch.  Apparently, it all started when Arturo was in a storm at sea, and he was swept overboard into a school of sharks. Just as his men were pulling him from the frigid waters, a shark leapt from the depths and bit off his leg, just below the knee.” Hearing this, Gwen felt her stomach turn uncomfortably.  Knowing that she was below the table, the Captain continued. “Sometime later, Arturo and his crew were boarding an enemy merchant ship and were battling the other sailors in hand-to-hand combat. It was a first-rate battle, and Arturo was right in the thick of things and about to run a man through with his short sword, when he was blind-sided by another pirate, who lopped off his hand with one quick swing of his sword. Arturo finished them both off, but now has a hook in place of his hand.” This time, Gwen couldn’t help but gasp aloud. Fortunately, the tavern-goers were noisy, and apparently neither the Captain nor Santiago had noticed her as they continued talking, so she felt safe under their table, eavesdropping. 

“So,” Santiago asked, “how did he end up with the eye-patch?” Listening intently, Gwen awaited the Captain’s response. 

“A seagull dropping fell into his eye.” 

“You mean he lost his eye to a seagull dropping?” Santiago asked, with mock incredulity. 

“Well…” the Captain began, “it was his first day with the hook.” Both men roared with laughter, while Gwen hunched below, momentarily stunned, berating herself for not realizing sooner that it was a joke. 

She stayed for a while under the table, wondering if this was truly a world she wanted to be a part of. Finally, she decided it was time to come out of hiding and make her request.   
Crawling out from under the table but rising too early, she hit her head on the edge with a loud thud – and a large dark hand slid underneath, catching her by the shirt collar.   
“Well, what do we have here?” the Spaniard asked with a sarcastic grin. Sea Wolf eyed her skeptically as Gwen shifted from foot to foot, trying to stay calm. She didn’t dare meet his eyes for fear he would recognize her from their earlier meeting. 

“My name’s Nicholas, and I’m looking for employment, sir,” she yelled over the noise. He pretended not to hear and motioned for her to come around the table, closer to him. Mustering up her courage, Gwen slid around the edge of the table, nearing his seat. She repeated her statement, but he placed a cupped hand to his ear, and with a forefinger, motioned her closer still. Desperately trying to hide her rapid pulse, she leaned her face nearer to his, doing her best to avoid his eyes. Ivar noticed the flush on her cheeks and the unsteady way she held herself, and shot a look to his friend as if to say ‘watch this!’ Santiago folded his arms and gleefully prepared to watch the game. 

Ivar had recognized those delicious eyes the moment the stranger had walked in the tavern door. He knew that this ‘young man’ was not a man at all, but was the brave and beautiful woman who had cursed him and slapped him across the face. The pirate was now having fun with her, and because she was not aware that he recognized her, Ivar had a distinct advantage. 

Gwen was in the midst of repeating her plea as loudly as she could when the raucous sounds of clapping, hollering and music stopped abruptly when the Spanish girls ended their first dance. Every head in the room turned in the direction of Gwen’s voice, instantly embarrassing her. Ivar smiled broadly, and Santiago laughed uproariously.   
“There’s no need to yell; I can hear you,” the pirate quipped, giving her a broad wink. She valiantly tried not to stare into his penetrating blue eyes, but she was mesmerized by his presence. “Well boy, turn around; let me see what you’re made of,” he said as the music and merriment started again. With her back to him, he made a crude motion about the shapeliness of her bottom to Santiago, who in turn gave Ivar a “thumbs up” sign. Gwen was already nervous, and now, being forced to pose for his ‘inspection’, felt humiliated as well. She had almost decided that the whole idea of becoming a pirate was not worth the trouble and was about to race out of the bar to never look back, when he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. Instantly she froze, unsure about what was coming next. Loosening his grip, he let his hand fall and smiled at her. “It’s very hard work, with very little pay,” he said, while Gwen nodded. “And you’ll start at the bottom and work your way up – if we learn we can trust you… Nicholas.” She nodded again in mute understanding.   
Sticking out his hand, Ivar reached for hers and shook it, saying, “Be ready to set sail a glass before midday.” Smiling broadly, Gwen thanked him profusely, bowing and gesturing to both he and the Spaniard. Her plan had worked! She was so excited about her good fortune that when she turned and found herself face-to-face with a beautiful young Spanish dancer, she grabbed hold of her and hugged her. Thinking the young man sweet, she gave Gwen a big kiss. Squirming uncomfortably, Gwen pushed her away, and ran to the tavern door and out into the night air.


	8. Chapter 8

Splashing into the water, Gwen pulled herself into the longboat, arriving just as the last of the crafts was being rowed away from the beach. With her eyes staring up at the pirates surrounding her, Gwen felt like an outcast. She seated herself near the bow and the men surrounding her gave her a once-over, then looked to the Captain standing at the rail on the Gullhartja, his expression concerned and calculating. He nodded his consent, and the men went back to rowing the short distance to the ship. 

Upon boarding, Gwen found herself in the way of the crew, and was roughly pushed aside a number of times. Suddenly she felt a hand grab her from behind, violently jerking her backwards. Turning with a biting remark on her lips, she saw the block-and-tackle hurtle through the air where her head had been just moments before, but she could not move quickly enough and it glanced off her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. She looked up from the deck to see the block-and-tackle being raised and the yardarm moving above her. Slowing getting up and realizing just how close she had come to death, she turned to thank her rescuer – and there was Sofala, the man from the tavern.   
With no time for thank you’s, Sofala ran from rope to rope working his trade as the Captain shouted orders. “Raise the colors! Set course southwest! Pull that mainsheet! Raise the mizzen!” the Captain yelled, while the crew appeared to scramble in all directions to follow his orders. 

“What’s happening?” Gwen asked Sofala as he approached again. He was pulling a shroud that supported the topmast rigging, while Ubbe, above them, was climbing to the crow’s nest. Waiting for his response, Gwen scanned the ship, watching the crew in action. The boatswain repeated the orders yelled by the Captain, as Sea Wolf grabbed the wheel from a drunken sailor and directed them out of the harbor. Sofala relaxed once his lines were in place, and turned to Gwen.   
“We’s gettin’ outta dis place,” he said with a smile. 

“I can see that, sir,” Gwen responded, trying to behave in a manner befitting a new recruit. 

Sofala continued, “We’s heard dat we’s gotta get goin. Da Anglaise are comin’ after us.”

Surprising Gwen, Sofala smiled a wide grin and with apparent joy, said, “Me thinks we’s gonna have a fight.” Gwen turned pale, realizing she might have bitten off more than she could chew. A real sea battle – while she was on board? Looking for the Captain, she noticed that he had left the helm, and a crusty old buccaneer had taken his place. Sensing someone behind her, she turned to see that the Captain was about to run her over. 

“Nicholas!” he bellowed. “Get out of the way, and get to work!” He grabbed Gwen’s sack and continued marching toward the stern, forcing her to run to keep up with him. 

“What should I do, sir?” she asked, fearing his answer. 

He must have realized she had little to no sailing experience, and that now would be a bad time to break her in. He threw Gwen’s sack at her and said, “Go down below to my quarters – I like my bed made before I set sail, and a properly-arranged trunk. Fix my clothes, scrub the floor and generally speaking, clean the room.” She looked at him, appalled. Clean the room? After coming all this way and making it onto the most famous pirate ship on the continent, commanded by the most famous pirate alive, she had to clean his room?   
Stammering, she responded, “But-but, sir… I can help with the rigging, or stand by the mounted guns – I can work the rudder as well sir; my father taught me.” The pirate smiled inwardly but kept his face stern. 

“Go below – now!” he shouted, and he strode on, back to barking orders at his men. 

Hours passed, and Gwen was grumbling to herself on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor of the Captain’s cabin – a seemingly impossible task, considering the sway and rock of the ship. Hearing whistling and the heavy tread of someone walking, she stood and found Ubbe standing in the doorway. 

“Oh – sorry there, boy. Lookin’ for the Cap’n,” he said. He eyed her suspiciously and walked closer to where she stood, making her nervous. Gwen cautiously wiped the spittle from her face, not realizing that her charcoal “stubble” was now completely erased from her sweat-covered face. 

“He’s not here,” she said, lowering her eyes. She tried to move past him, but he stood his ground. 

“I can see that,” he muttered, moving closer to her and trying to get a better look at her face. Gwen glared at him as he whistled, all the while moving closer to her. Suddenly the Captain appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat to announce his arrival, and the two crewmembers jumped to attention. 

“Everything in order, Ubbe?” he asked, looking at Gwen. Ubbe whistled to himself and rocked back and forth before he finally spoke. 

“I gotta say somethin Cap’n. I think its bad luck to have one of them aboard. Its Bartholomew Roberts rule of pirate conduct, and I think we ought to follow it.” 

Ivar wondered if Ubbe knew the truth about ‘Nicholas’, but opted not to reveal her. “You mean such a young man,” he stated, looking for Ubbe’ reaction. 

“Yes,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. The Captain smiled, and looking at them both, Gwen relaxed. Ubbe thought that she was a boy, and apparently that went against the rules of piracy. 

“I’ll take my chances, Ubbe. If I run into Roberts, I’ll give him a personal apology. I heard that Roberts is presently engaged against His Majesty’s ships near the Leeward Islands. Besides, I have more important matters to concern myself with.” He dismissed Ubbe with a wave of his hand, shocking him into silence with his abrupt behavior. Turning, he grumbled something mixed with a low whistle and left the room. Sitting in his chair at the table, Ivar looked around the room. He nodded in apparent approval, and turned to face Gwen. 

“That bed sheet is wrinkled,” he said, pointing to the perfectly smooth cover. Gwen felt anger rising in her chest, but not wanting to enrage him, merely raised an eyebrow.   
“Oh?” she asked, in what she hoped was a nonchalant voice, “where?” Rising quickly to his feet, Ivar stood across from her with blue eyes flashing, leaning heavily on the table.   
“If I say the sheet is wrinkled, then the sheet is wrinkled!” 

Gwen jumped into action and went through of the motions of smoothing out wrinkles from the top sheet. Ivar stared as Gwen worked on the non-existent wrinkles; her bending over the bed exposed a side of Gwen that Ivar quite enjoyed. He couldn’t help but ogle her legs and backside, and wondered what she would look like out of those breeches she was wearing. He shook his head, trying to push the image from his mind. 

“That’s good,” he said gruffly, and she turned back to him. “Now, go to the galley and ask that cook of ours for my meal… and get yourself a plate, too.”   
“Yes, sir,” she said, and with eyes lowered in what she hoped would pass for submission, left the room.

As she stepped into the fresh air, she saw many crewmembers seated around the deck eating. A few more were in line at the galley door, waiting to receive a plate of food from the handsome cook who was stirring a large pot, with a brightly-colored parrot balanced on his shoulder. Gwen cautiously approached the strange man she only vaguely recalled seeing when the pirates were on shore. She definitely hadn’t seen the bird before though. It was dressed like a miniature pirate, with a small cloth tied around its head and an eye patch over one eye. It squawked and flapped its wings as Gwen approached. Turning around at the noise, the cook saw Gwen gaping at the bird. 

“We both got hit near Castle Harbor,” he said, speaking of a sea fight near Bermuda. “He lost an eye.” Gwen nodded and smiled at him. 

“I’m to bring the Captain his supper,” she said, still looking at the bird. The cook eyed her, as many of the men had, suspicious of a stranger on board but not yet paying too much attention. The bird cocked its head her way. 

“Pretty boy, pretty boy!” the parrot said, and Cook grinned. He slopped a ladle of stew and put a small piece of hard crusted bread on Gwen’s plate, then carefully arranged another plate for the Captain; this one full of hot, fresh vegetables, and a delicious looking cut of roast beef. Gwen’s mouth began to water from the aroma. It dawned on her that she hadn’t eaten since the early morning, and it had been a long, hard day. Smiling her thanks, she took both plates and headed below deck to the Captain’s quarters. As she left she heard the parrot call out, 

“Pretty boy, pretty boy!” and to her chagrin, a group of crewmen laughed heartily, and the name Hvitserk called out, although she didn’t know if the name was for the bird or the cook. As she descended as quickly as she could, unable to wait a moment longer, she took a carrot from the Captain’s plate and gobbled it up, running her tongue over her teeth to extract any evidence from between them. She couldn’t remember the last time a carrot had tasted so heavenly. 

Knocking on the door, she waited for his permission to enter. He has a wonderful timbre to his speaking voice, she thought to herself. It was forceful and frightening when he yelled, though it secretly excited her to be near such power – she just didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his fury again! Hopefully, she thought to herself, he is in better spirits now that they were are on our way. Interrupting her reverie, he ordered her to enter. Turning the handle, she walked into the room with their dinners. His back was to her, but he had his shirt off and was dressed only in silk trousers. Gwen’s face flushed at the sight of his bare skin and muscular torso – a man in such sheer pants was something she had never before been privy to. His was precisely the type of body she found the most attractive, and she was now almost close enough to feel his body heat. 

“Put the plates on the table, then sit and join me for supper.” It was a command, not a request. Gwen shook her head in protest; being this close to Ivar was far too dangerous for her. 

“Thank you sir, but no. I’ll eat with the other crewmembers, if you please,” Gwen replied, and with her plate still in her hand, turned to go. He stopped her with his voice.   
“I insist,” he said strongly, but a smile took the chill off his remark. Returning to the table, she took her place across from him. “I noticed you eyeing my leggings,” he said, taking a bite. Embarrassed at being caught, Gwen lowered her head, saying nothing. “They’re from the Orient,” Ivar continued, “and were a… a gift from an emperor’s ship.” Still Gwen didn’t look up, instead keeping her eyes on her food, which she was inhaling. “Slow down there, my boy,” he instructed, leisurely eating his supper. “Contrary to popular belief, we can be civilized on board the Gullhartja, and that includes eating like gentlemen.” 

Gwen couldn’t help but remember the scene at the beach when the pirates ate their food with their hands and out-belched one another. Ignoring him, she continued to eat as quickly as she could. Watching in amusement, Ivar decided to see how far he could push her, and exactly what she would do to keep up the charade. “That also means taking off your cap at meals,” he said sternly, looking at a few strands of hair hanging out from under her hat.

Finally she raised her eyes to his and gave him a sheepish look. Thinking fast, afraid that she would be discovered and cast overboard to slowly drown fathoms deep on the sea-floor, she said, “Please Captain, it’s um…. a bit embarrassing, but um… I have a sorrowful bout of lice that are living at the moment on my head, and I don’t want to share them with anyone, especially you… That is, if you don’t mind, sir,” she said, and gave him a pitiful look that sent him laughing. 

“Fine boy,” he said, and pushed his plate away, only half finished. Taking out a large map, Ivar unrolled it and laid it flat on the table. Seeing that he was preparing to work, Gwen rose to leave. Hearing the scrape of her chair, Ivar looked up. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his blue eyes probing. She paused, not quite sure how to answer.   
“I’ll have to find my bunk, sir… with the rest of the crewmen, in the crew’s quarters.” As the words left her mouth, she realized the truth of her situation, and wanted to hide amongst the jumble of rigging and barrels below. Gwen knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she preferred fending off rats to having to deal with the rest of the crew. Ivar’s mind whirled. 

“There’s no room,” he said firmly, and looked back to his map, considering the matter closed. 

Gwen piped up, “Sir, if you please, I can sleep in the cargo; I won’t take up too much room, and–” He interrupted her.

“No man sleeps in the cargo hold. It’s a rule aboard ship. You’ll sleep… here.” With this command, her eyes opened wide, and she shivered involuntarily. He continued, “At the foot of my bed, on this,” and he threw a small blanket to her, pointing at the floor. “That’s an order,” he finished. Carefully putting her plate back on the table, she suddenly realized that she needed to use the head – badly. In all the excitement of the day, she’d unthinkingly been holding it for hours. A strange expression crossed her face. When Ivar asked if something was wrong, she cautiously explained she needed to relieve herself but didn’t know where to go. Ivar quickly realized he’d have to go topside to shield her while she used the head. 

“Come on then, boy, follow me.” Nearly running to keep pace with him, they ended up on the leeward side. It appeared to be a popular spot for sailors, some of whom were chatting and smoking after their meal, while others had returned to their duties and were manning the deck. Ivar saw that the head was fairly empty and went toward the front. Gwen once again realized she hadn’t thought everything through, for on The Dragon, Roberto had secured their privacy whenever nature called. Now she would really have to be careful. Hearing footsteps, she turned and saw Ubbe approaching. 

“Careful you don’t drop through the seat there, Cap’n,” he said with a grin. 

The Captain bellowed, “Some privacy, Ubbe!” and his first mate sneered at Gwen as he turned to walk away. “Use that one,” said Sea Wolf as he pointed to a hole in a box, opening to the water below. Gwen looked around, aghast, even as the Captain turned to shield her from the rest of the crew. He understood this would continue to be a problem and offered a suggestion. “If you feel, eh-hem, like you need more privacy – since you’re young and don’t know the crew well – you may use a chamber pot from now on. Just be sure to clean up after yourself.” Gwen finished her ‘business’ as quickly as possible, and hurriedly pulled up her trousers, gratefully thanking the Captain. Telling her to go below, he reminded her to get a good night’s rest, as the following day would be long and strenuous. This time, Gwen gladly followed orders and went below. Ivar stayed above deck, thinking of the types of menial and onerous tasks he could give his new cabin mate to test her mettle. 

Striding along the deck, he stood to the fore of the ship, looking out over her bow. The warm sea breeze played with his hair, and a light spray struck his face with each wave the Gullhartja crested. He looked to the stars, just beginning to appear in the night sky. Listening, he heard the men singing sea ballads and smiled. I have a first-rate crew, he thought, one that I would be proud to take into any battle. But what was he going to do with the lady who was lighting a fire in his heart?


	9. Chapter 9

As the Captain had predicted, the days that followed were long and arduous for Gwen. As a Lady of the Court, it had been some time since she had been given even the simplest of duties for her own upkeep, and even longer since she had performed any strenuous manual labor. From sunrise to sunset, she did as the Captain ordered. Her ordeal began early each morning. As the sun peeked over the horizon and the sky brightened, Gwen would start the day by running up the ship’s colors. Then her tasks began in earnest. The deck needed to be swabbed far more frequently than she could ever have imagined. She had no idea why a spotless deck was so important to the smooth running of a ship; however, according to the Captain, it was, and she vowed to do everything in her power to make herself indispensable to him. 

After breakfast, the cook’s pots needed scrubbing and the galley then needed to be readied for the next meal. The rails, it seemed, always needed scrubbing and there were endless small leaks to be caulked with oakum and pitch, or small tears in the sails that needed mending. At the end of the day, the Captain’s chambers had to be cleaned and tidied before he took leave of the men and returned to his quarters. By the time the moon was high in the sky and the cook’s pots had once again been scrubbed and the colors pulled down for the night, Gwen was exhausted. Gwen had never felt so tired in her life. But she was learning the trade of a pirate sailor, and had developed callused hands and toughened skin from the sun and salt of living at sea. Each night, she was fast asleep before the Captain even entered his quarters, and her sleep was so deep that she never heard him readying himself for bed, or felt his stares as he watched her sleep. 

Nightly, Ivar was surprised and awed by her tenacity. In his attempt to overwork her or humiliate her and force her to confess her ruse, he found himself more and more attracted to this woman, who seemed to take each command in stride and good-naturedly completed her day. Twice he had ordered her to clean the gunnery and stack the ammunition – a hard and dangerous task for a seasoned seaman – and twice she had gone about the task without so much as a pause. He smiled in the darkness as he remembered ordering her to scrub the seats in the head; he thought he had finally pushed her to the edge when she protested about that task. However, after he said it was a job for new crewmen and that all aboard had done it at least once, she reluctantly went about the job. Each time he thought he had her cornered, she would surprise him again. He had never imagined a lady of the Court being so hardy. 

Ivar was certain that she had to be lonely; she kept mostly to herself, and he would have been concerned about her safety if it weren’t for her friendship with Sofala, who seemed to keep an eye on his young friend. Ubbe, on the other hand, was keenly jealous of Gwen. He had not recognized ‘Nicholas’ as the young lady he had captured from The Dragon. Concern for his own esteem in the Captain’s eyes drove Ubbe to try to sabotage Gwen at every turn. Ivar was acutely aware of most of Ubbe’s hijinks, but as long as no real harm came of it, he was inclined to let Ubbe continue with his antics. Making extra messes on deck, or going below and wreaking havoc on a room that Gwen had already scrubbed would cause her no great harm. Between Sofala and himself, Ivar was certain they could keep the pirate imposter out of harm’s way. 

Each night, Ivar would watch her sleep at the foot of his bed, and wondered how such a strong woman could exist in such a lovely form. He also wondered how he would ever explain the truth about her presence in his bedchamber, but not in his bed. One day, quite by accident, he finally found her weakness. Standing on deck one windy day, he gave the fateful command. Ubbe was by his side when Ivar said, “Nicholas, I want you to stand crow’s today and watch for ships. Ubbe, you come below and help me with the charts.” Ubbe began to whistle a happier tune than he had in days, spraying both his Captain and Gwen with flecks of spit as he relished finally having been favored over the youngster. But one look at the suddenly ashen face of his young crewmember, and both the Captain and Ubbe knew that he had found her Achilles heel. Gwen gulped, taking a sideways glance at the fore and aft movement of the tallest pole on the ship with its miniature barrel at the peak. She had ventured out the portside planks, had crawled along the bowsprit back on The Dragon, but this… The crow’s nest was at a height she had never experienced. To make matters worse, there was a strong sea breeze making the sails billow, and she swore when she looked up that the mast was dancing with the wind. 

“What’s the matter, boy?” Ubbe stopped whistling long enough to mock his perceived challenger. “Your not afraid, are ya?” he continued, slapping Gwen on the back so hard that, in her unprepared state, she went flailing to the deck. 

“Ubbe!” the Captain bellowed. “Get yourself below!” Ubbe saluted mockingly as he skipped toward the quarterdeck. Ivar had to use every ounce of willpower he possessed not to do the gentlemanly thing and assist Gwen from her place on deck. “Get up, boy,” he said instead. “You’ll do fine.” And then he walked away giving orders, while furtively checking back to make sure she could stand. Gwen picked herself off the deck and stood at the base of the pole. 

This is it, she thought to herself. Checking for the spyglass in her back pocket, she placed one foot up on the lowest foothold. I can climb this pole and spend the day in the crow’s nest as ordered, she continued, taking the next step up so that now both feet were off the deck. Or I can go and tell him the truth. He’d never make me climb this if he knew I’m a woman. Two more pegs up the post. Or, she thought wildly, maybe he’d make me walk the plank for deceiving him and the crew. Another peg up the tall beam, and it seemed her decision was made. I’ve got to try. I’ve got to get to the top of this thing. Foot on peg, up. Foot on peg, up. Men do it every day. Surely it can’t be that difficult. 

Coaching herself along, she felt very proud of her accomplishment thus far, until she looked down and saw that she had barely moved above the deck. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to move up the pole, sometimes mocking herself for her childish fear, and other times promising herself a great reward if she could just get to the top. If… no, when I’ve finished this task, I’ll ask him for a little water and a private wash tub. And, once I’ve finished this, I will have proven myself worthy and I’ll tell him everything, and he’ll be so proud and happy that we’ll live happily ever after… Ivar watched from the entrance to the quarterdeck as she made her way up the pole with agonizing slowness. I don’t think there will be anyone on the seas today, thank goodness, he thought to himself. At her pace, a ship would be upon us before she climbed high enough to see it!  

He glanced around the deck and noticed that he was not the only one watching her make the climb. Sofala was also watching, and seemed poised to catch her should she lose her nerve, or her grip, and fall. Just as she cleared the main sail, a strong gust of wind blew and shook her confidence to the core. Looking straight out at the sea, careful not to look down or up, she noted she had yet to make it above the topsail. She had adjusted to the feeling of swinging in the breeze with the pole, but the gust had shaken her confidence, and it was suddenly impossible for her to move. From below, she heard a friendly voice. “Don’t look down, Nicholas!” Sofala shouted. “Just put one more foot up… then another… you can do this!” he encouraged her. He had seen many a man become too frightened to climb either up or down – and Sofala could recognize the paralyzing signs. 

Listening to the comforting timbre of Sofala’s voice, and somewhat embarrassed to have been seen taking so long to climb the pole, Gwen slowly lifted one foot to the next peg. Sofala watched from below as she convinced herself to move on and continue the climb. She had just reached the bottom of the crow’s nest when she looked at the sea and caught a glimpse of the ship’s bow from the corner of her eye. Suddenly her arms started shaking, and the world started to lose focus. This was so much higher than the beam she’d climbed to at the castle – and she had lost consciousness there! Her mind was suddenly racing, and she fought hard to keep her wits about her so she wouldn’t pass out. 

“Keep goin’, Nicky!” Sofala shouted from somewhere below, but for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine how she could go on. Her arms and legs had become like so many stones of lead, and she knew with a certainty born of pure terror that if she moved one iota, she would fall and land in a dead heap on the deck. “Its okay, lad,” She heard Sofala say repeatedly, and somehow the sound seemed to be getting closer. In her fear, she started to think she had already fallen, for hadn’t she left Sofala far below on the decks? Perhaps she was already on the ground, and holding onto nothing but air in the death grip she thought she had on the pegs. Just as her mind accepted that explanation for the nearness of Sofala’s voice and she was about to let go of the pegs, she felt a strong push and found herself in the crow’s nest. Sofala had sensed the moment she had become unable to move any longer. There had been a tension in her body that spoke volumes to a seasoned seaman; even from far below, Sofala knew that without help, his young friend would not make it into the crow’s nest. 

Ivar had seen the moment as well, and had it not been for Sofala starting to climb after her, he himself would have set out to save her. A small part of him was a bit disappointed that he had not rescued Gwen. She would have been forced to admit her act, and they could have put an end to this game. Once inside the crow’s nest, Gwen took a few moments to catch her breath. I did it! she thought to herself – albeit with a little help – but here she was at the very top of the ship! She held tightly to the perimeter of the circular rail and finally dared to glance over the side. She looked down and saw that Sofala had already made his way back to the deck, and was continuing with his rigging duties as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. A somber figure directly to the right of Sofala caught her eye – the Captain stared back for a brief moment, then went below deck. Oh terrific, Gwen thought. 

He saw the whole thing. I’m sure to be questioned later. Maybe I’ll even be punished when I get down, she considered desperately. Get down? Oh no, I’m going to have to eventually climb down! She hesitated as she was about to scan the horizon for signs of any ships or land. Oh well, I’m here now.  I’ll deal with the descent later, she appeased her worried mind. As the day dragged on, Gwen stared at the endless sea watching for changes on the horizon, and she became more and more accustomed to the swaying of the big ship in the waters and on the winds. At first, the gusts made her grip the crow’s nest and mast so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Eventually however, she learned to sway with the wind, and to relax and enjoy her unparalleled view of the world. 

The sun was beginning its descent and the men were preparing for supper. Though she knew that her duties atop the ship were coming to an end, she still hadn’t convinced herself to make her way down the pole. Being in the crow’s nest had afforded her a feeling of safety from the elements, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to venture forth unprotected to make her way back down the mast. However, she desperately needed to use the chamber pot, and there was a growing desire to prove to herself that she had finally and truly conquered her fear. Slowly and carefully, she made her way out of the hole in the bottom of the crow’s nest and started on her journey back down the pole. This time, she surprised even herself by having not a single moment of hesitation during her descent, not even when a strong gust of wind threatened to pull her off the mast. When she jumped the last few feet to the deck, she almost landed on Sofala. 

“We’s all gotta face de monsters,” he said, as he winked at her and showed his golden grin. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the Captain watching her.   
Feeling braver and more exhilarated than she had since leaving Castle Green, she tilted her head back to look at Sofala and asked, “What do you think the Captain’s are? Do you think he has any fears?” 

“His be easy,” Sofala said with a gentle laugh, pausing to look around to make sure no one was listening. Pointing a big finger to his chest he said, “He be scared of de heart.” Sofala patted his friend on the back, and then turned and strode toward the galley for supper. 

Gwen ate quickly that night, not bothering to mingle with the rest of the crew. Feeling excited by the rush of accomplishment, she didn’t go below deck to her shared quarters, as was normally her custom after dinner. Instead, she made her way to the stern of the ship and looked out into the night sky and the vast ocean. She began to relax, and her mind drifted to thoughts of Elizabeth, hoping with all her heart that her friend had made it safely home to Castle Green. She would love to be able to tell Elizabeth about her many triumphs here on the Gullhartja, and the feeling of achievement today. She missed having her best friend with her and sharing stories. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye as she allowed herself to feel the loneliness of her plan. Eventually, she knew she would have to tell the Captain who she was and exactly why she was on board his ship, but without her friend to help her decide, she didn’t know when the right time might be. 

Wiping away an errant tear, she glanced around the deck to be sure no one was around, and seeing that she was alone, decided to risk removing her cap. From behind the wheel housing, Ivar watched as Gwen stealthily removed her cap and let loose her hair. Tucking the cap in the front of her trousers, she ran her fingers through it, obviously enjoying the feel of the wind. Earlier, Ivar had gone below to his quarters expecting to find Gwen, but was surprised to find her modest bed empty. Wondering where she may have wandered to, he went searching. As he made his way around the ship, he noticed that, except for the night watch, most of the men had turned in. It was a quiet time aboard the Gullhartja, and he had a chance to reflect. After watching Gwen on the mast today, and being genuinely afraid for her, he had decided that it was time to reveal his knowledge of her charade. When he rounded the corner of the quarterdeck, he hadn’t expected to find her silhouetted by the moon, stretching languidly in its light. 

He watched for another few moments as she stretched her hands above her head, seeming to touch the stars in the sky, and then leaned forward on the rail, appearing to pray to the sea gods. Seeing her on his ship in the night air and watching her these past few days, he knew he wanted her. Gwen felt a presence behind her and quickly slapped the cap back on her head. She turned and saw that the man behind her was none other than the Captain, and he was looking at her almost softly. It must be the reflection of the moon, she thought as she turned and asked, “Anything the matter, Captain?” He moved nearer and stood beside her against the rails, leaning on his arms as he inhaled the night air deeply. For what seemed an eternity he didn’t speak; he just stood there looking out to sea. Finally, he reached out and placed a hand on the small of her back. 

Gwen froze. She had no idea how to react. Ivar felt her tense up, and found that he was at a loss as to how to tell her he knew her secret. What if she gets angry for making her climb to the crow’s nest today, or for making her do all of those horrible chores? What if she knew… His mind spun with terrible possibilities. Gwen was torn as well. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell him the truth, she thought. On the other hand, what if he gets angry? Without the other crewmen around, who knows what he might do to me if he isn’t happy about finding me on board? Long moments passed, with each lost in their own thoughts. They stood like stone statues in the night, neither moving, and barely breathing. Finally, Gwen could take the silence no more. 

“Excuse me, sir, I think it’s time to get some rest,” she said quietly, and moved away from his touch. He caught her by the arm just as she started to walk away. Turning to him again, she saw a look on his face that told her he was struggling with something. 

“Wait,” he asked gently. Gwen looked at him expectantly, trying to read his thoughts, but with his face shadowed by the moon, it was impossible. Oh no, thought Gwen, he thinks there is something wrong with me because I couldn’t climb the pole today! He’s going to make me leave the ship at the next port! Her mind was racing with possible defenses, but it was clear there was nothing else she could do but to tell the truth. She decided to tell him before he made her leave. 

“Um, sir?” she started quickly. 

“Good night…” Ivar said at the same time, having decided he needed more time to plan. 

“Oh, sorry; what is it?” Ivar asked, hoping she was about to start a conversation and give him time to gather the courage he needed to allow the truth to be spoken. 

“Nothing, sir, nothing at all,” she replied hurriedly, and quickly pulled away from him so that he couldn’t stop her again. “Good night,” she called back over her shoulder. Sighing, Ivar let her go. He seemed to feel her body heat on his face as he watched her move through the hatchway and down the stairs to his bedchamber. He turned back toward the sea and stared at it for a long time, giving her time to make herself ready for bed, and hopefully fall asleep, before he returned. 

Looking into the night sky, he could see again the sparkle of her eyes dancing in the moonlight, and her striking similarity to the vision that had saved his ship from certain ruin during the great tempest. Taking one last look around the decks, he made his way toward his chamber, certain that this situation couldn’t go on much longer, and hoping that when it reached its conclusion, she wouldn’t hate him forever.


	10. Chapter 10

Sometime between the darkest part of night and earliest morn, in the hours when the air becomes thick and mysterious, Ivar finally returned to his quarters. Quietly he sat on the edge of his bed and pondered the woman before him. He reached down, pulling the corner of Gwen’s blanket up over her shoulder, and then lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Gwen was wide-awake and restless. Pretending to be asleep, she almost cried out loud in frustration as she felt him cover her shoulder with the blanket. She was so tired of lying on the cold, hard floor all these nights – and listening to his breathing and his distant heartbeat. Ivar had placed a fur rug under Gwen’s blankets and provided a pillow to make her more comfortable, but it wasn’t so much the discomfort of her makeshift bed as it was the man lying so close to her that tormented her dreams. 

They were both restless – when he moved onto his side, she rolled onto her back; when he turned over to his stomach, she rolled the other way. For what seemed an eternity, both tossed, and sighed, and shifted positions in search of elusive slumber; each assuming the other had found it. Time was suspended, each thinking of the other; wild fantasies and strong desires flooding their minds and tempting their bodies. Ivar was tense and thought of getting up and taking a walk in the night air to cool his body and brain, both pulsating with thoughts of Gwen. Finally, he threw his blankets off and sighed in defeat. He longed to touch her sun-kissed skin, to hold her in his arms, to wake with the morning sun and look into those angelic eyes. Ivar stared down into the bundle of blankets that encircled Gwen. The moonlight and sway of the ocean were moving shadows throughout the room. And then, it happened – a dancing moonbeam shined directly on Gwen’s face, and her eyes were open, staring directly into Ivar’s. The full moon continued to shine and the glow in the room seemed to intensify as their eyes adjusted to the changing moonlight. They stared at each other for a long while, their eyes saying the words that they dared not speak. The air was thick with the potent energy of lovers discovering each other for the first time.

Without breaking contact, Ivar leaned back on his pillows and held out a strong hand, inviting and welcoming her to his bed. As if in a waking dream, she took his hand and stood beside the bed, her eyes never leaving his. Squeezing his hand gently, she let it fall and slowly started to remove her chemise. Unraveling the yards of cloth from around her chest, her body swaying with the sea as it fell away, she felt the cool sea breeze seductively kiss her skin. Ivar’s heart seemed to beat outside his body as he watched her undress in the moonlight. As each piece of cloth fell and he drank in more of her womanly form, he wondered if a man could ever tire of such a sight. Languidly, she removed the remainder of her undergarments and stood beside his bed, fully exposed and vulnerable, but with a quiet strength that caused Ivar to hold his breath. 

Slowly and gracefully, she climbed onto his bed, running her hands across Ivar’s naked chest, relishing the feel of his muscular frame beneath her fingers. Pressing her body into his, she stretched her full length against him. Shivering with need and anticipation, he wrapped his hands around the small of her back, and with gentle strength, rolled her atop him. She felt his silky pants beneath her legs as his body pressed up against her. His need was apparent and the moment was upon them. He raised his shoulders and kissed her, long and softly, his tongue tenderly tasting the outside of her lips before plundering her welcoming mouth. His fingers gently caressed her hair, as her fingers teased the nape of his neck. Feeling her soft skin against his own was simultaneously grounding and set his blood to a boil. 

He ran his hands along her back and down to her thighs, separating them to straddle his lap, the heat from her core causing him to pull back from her mouth with a groan. Instinctively she began to slowly grind her hips along his length, seeking the pleasurable friction to ease the ache deep within her, his hands guiding the movement of her hips desperate to watch her fall apart. He was completely mesmerized by the sway of her breasts, the look of lust on her face, and the soft sound emitted from her swollen lips.  
She felt a sudden tightening in her belly, and although she wasn’t sure what it was, she knew she wanted to explore where the feeling lead. Ivar recognized the signs and gripped her hips tightly to pull her harder against him, the feeling of being so close to being inside of her but just out of reach was pure torture, but he needed her to be ready. He needed her body to accept him easily or he would surely lose his mind.

The chord in her belly snapped with a sudden jolt and her body was overcome with pleasure. Gwen’s mind went blank, purely concentrating on the wonderful sensations moving through her body, sensations Ivar was all too willing to nurture. He rolled them both over, pinning her writhing body below his own. His heart beat erratically inside of his chest, wanting nothing more than to plunge his way inside of her with all his force, but he knew he couldn’t. Running his hand down her body he gently ran his fingers through her folds, pleased to find her absolutely soaked and her body still pulsing lightly. Not wanting to waste any more time, he quickly pulled his pants down to mid thigh and nestled himself further between her thighs and lining himself up with her entrance. He felt her tense slightly and looked into her eyes, his forehead resting on hers, breathing in the other’s breaths.   
Gwen gave him a gentle smile and ran her finger tips over his back, making him shudder before slowly pushing his hips forward. He intently watched her face, checking for signs of pain, when he found none he pushed through the barrier holding him back until his hips were flush with hers. He kissed over her face and neck, holding himself steady in the tight warmth of her, allowing her body to adjust to the intrusion, both of them letting out little moans and whimpers of contentment. Once he felt her walls gently pulse and felt her hips wiggle slightly he began to move.

He moved more tightly against her, and her head spun as if she was again high above the topmast. Her body undulated with desire, and they moved together like the waves of the ocean. They explored each other in an ecstasy of lovemaking until the moon slowly disappeared into the sea, and he had emptied himself deep within her depths. Through the night, each realized that they had found the missing piece of themselves, and the seas and the winds and the heavens had opened for them to reveal a wondrous new world. As the first rays of morning light skimmed the bed, Gwen and Ivar both fell into the peaceful, sated slumber they had been unable to find earlier. 

Ivar was the first to waken, and he took great pleasure in finding her warm, soft, body nestled into his. He saw her now as her true self – a beautiful woman with kind, loving eyes and silken hair; but more than that, he saw strength of character and an uncommon confidence. He hugged her tighter to him as he remembered the myriad of ways she had found through the night to show him that she was a partner in their adventure. Unable to stop himself, he touched her cheek softly and she opened her eyes, sighing happily, but biting her bottom lip in sudden nervousness. 

“Why did we wait so long?” he asked, as he stroked her soft skin. She smiled and before she answered she asked, “When did you know?” 

“That you were a woman?” She nodded. “Ever since you asked to join the crew of the Gullhartja,” he said matter-of-factly. She rolled quickly away from him, her mouth frowning, a shocked expression replacing the serenity of a few short moments ago. He was surprised by her reaction and decided she must be pretending. 

“Gwen… come back here, you!” he said, while reaching for her playfully. 

“And, and… You know my name!” Gwen jumped off the bed in a fit. “You knew I was a woman all along! And you still made me do all those… those awful, dirty and dangerous things?” she shouted at him, remembering the days she scrubbed the head, and the deck, and climbed the mast, and polished the guns. “What kind of man are you – Sea Wolf?” she hollered at him. Standing before him, naked and angry, she quickly bent and began picking up her clothing, hiding herself from his view. Shocked by her use of his infamous moniker, he tried again to make light of the situation. 

“It’s quite humorous, if you think about it,” he said, wondering how this had all gone so suddenly wrong. 

“Humorous!” she snorted madly, recalling again all the menial tasks and the humiliation she had suffered – not to mention sleeping on his floor. He saw that she wasn’t letting up, and then he too became frustrated. 

“Well, it’s not as if I didn’t warn you! I told you it was hard work!” he yelled back. Her fists clenched in anger, masking her embarrassment at the truth of his statement, she continued stomping around the quarters trying to get herself dressed. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said quietly as he stepped out of bed and draped a sheet around his muscular frame. “I was concerned about how you would get along with a crew of pirates,” he continued, and reaching her side, tried to pull her to him. “In fact, I kept you out of harm’s way.” Gwen pushed him away, recalling that she had very nearly been knocked senseless when a block-and-tackle felled her. 

“Some job you did!” she jabbed angrily. “Why on earth did you even let me aboard?” she snapped at him. “Was I some sort of jester to poke fun at? How many of the men knew? Tell me that! I bet they think I’m some trollop, coming into your chamber every night! Well, I’ll tell you, as soon as we find land, I’m leaving!” she yelled. The door suddenly flew open, and Ubbe rushed into the room to assist his Captain with whatever hellfire had found its way to his quarters. What he saw was his Captain with a bed sheet around his waist and a bemused expression on his face, watching a half-clad woman pulling on a pair of breeches. Ubbe noticed immediately that she had a girlish resemblance to the cabin boy named Nicholas. 

“Oh shit,” said Ubbe fretfully. “Nicholas is a woman.” He stared as Gwen buttoned her trousers and picked up her cap. 

“I guess I don’t need this anymore!” she yelled, throwing her cap at Ivar. She marched past Ubbe and out the doorway, then suddenly turned and added a last retort to Ubbe. “My name is Gwen. Lady Guinevere of Dover, and I would ask that you treat me as such for the remainder of the journey!” Slamming the door behind her, she stormed above deck.   
“She sure has a temper,” Ubbe said, shaking his head in astonishment. 

 

The crew was agitated, and stared rudely at the woman in trousers pacing the deck, mumbling to herself. One of the pirates walked past her and spit on the ground, muttering something about women being bad luck, and that now they’d all surely become fish fodder. So deep was Gwen’s disturbance that, without her noticing, the men had begun to form around her. There was a commotion on deck, and Gwen stood stock-still in fear, noticing for the first time that she was almost surrounded by the crew. She realized that this could be the moment when the crew took over, and she might be bound and keelhauled. Just as she began to wonder if Ivar would be able to save her, Sea Wolf appeared on the stairs of the upper deck. All eyes turned to their leader. 

“Men! As you see, we have had a masquerader on board. Once known to you as ‘Nicholas’, she now calls herself, Lady Gwen.” The men booed and hissed at her, calling her names. The cook’s parrot squawked “Pretty boy, pretty boy,” and flapped his wings. Ivar held up his hand to silence the unruly crew. “This imposter must not be touched until I announce due punishment for this heinous act of betrayal.” Betrayal! thought Gwen. Now who was betraying whom? 

Unable to hold her tongue, she piped up, “You knew I was a wo–” but before she could finish, he stopped her with a stern look of warning and a raised hand. 

“You are no longer to speak, unless I request it,” Sea Wolf said sternly to Lady Gwen, loud enough for all to hear. The men brightened up and laughed as they saw her indignant   
expression. 

He believed that humiliating Gwen, and the promise of punishment to come, was the best way to keep her from being hurt or killed by an over-anxious crewman. Many of the crew were superstitious about women aboard a pirate ship, and still others were upset about being fooled by Gwen’s disguise. As a final precaution, Ivar entrusted Gwen’s care and wellbeing to Sofala. After his initial shock wore off, the great Moor realized that this woman held his captain’s heart, and he would do everything in his power to protect her. Sea Wolf then turned to his crew, dismissing Gwen with an air of rebuff. “Now, to more important business. We will be sailing for the town of Betancuria, and I want all hands on deck at the ready, awaiting my further direction.” 

As the day progressed, Gwen calmed slightly, but her emotions whirled uncontrollably. She had experienced the most beautiful night of her life with the man she had fallen in love with, and then found out that he amused himself by setting her up for weeks of hard labor and menial tasks. Now Ivar forbade her to speak! As much as she tried to stay angry with him, memories of the night spent in his arms kept returning. Then guilt would sneak in, for hadn’t she set out to trick him? Then Gwen’s mind would turn to another particularly nasty duty he had bid her to perform, and the anger would flash back again. Breaking into her thoughts, Ubbe strutted past her, whistling a gallows tune. Gwen grabbed a wooden block and hastily threw it at him, connecting with the back of his head. Ubbe turned and gave her a threatening scowl, and Sofala stepped in between them. 

“Now, de Captain be sayin’ no talkin’, but he did’na say no throwin’!” the giant Moor laughed as he unsheathed his cutlass. Ubbe ignored him and continued glaring at Gwen. Suddenly, the boatswain’s whistle interrupted the disagreement, and all eyes rose to the crow’s nest where an excited pirate pointed straight ahead. 

“Land ho!” Ivar ran up the stairs from his quarters below, charts tucked under his arm. They had almost arrived at their destination – the Canary Islands. Ivar stood near the helm, the crisp breeze tugging at his hair and his blue eyes bright in anticipation, waiting for a view of the tropical isle. Gulls, a sure sign of land, swooped about midship, squawking stridently. As Ivar surveyed his charts and the distant land shapes, they continued onward to their destination. The Gullhartja was but one tack away from the coast of Africa, then they would head west, around the outlying isles, and then southeast to Fuerteventura Island, making a slow semi-circle. The islands had fended off Sir Francis Drake a hundred years before, and had seen dozens of pirates and privateers cruise its shores. Sea Wolf knew it was a risky venture to sail too close to Africa; the seashore was littered with ships that had carelessly trusted the unforgiving coastline. Sea Wolf ordered the skull and crossbones to be run up and the guns to be manned. Even from a distance, Gwen was breathless at the islands’ beauty and exoticism. 

Great volcanoes shot up from La Palma, and the long sandy white beaches of El Hierro enchanted her. Hours later, when they were clear of Gran Canaria, the ship pulled into the west shore of Fuerteventura, slowly moving toward the town of Betancuria. Ivar scanned Betancuria through his spyglass and saw men running and preparing for attack. He opted to hoist his personal colors and the Sea Wolf emblem was raised. The same men on shore who had made for the small battlements were now waving. Springing into action, the crew maneuvered the vessel into the deep-water cove where the harbor lay. At Sea Wolf’s orders, the sails were struck and the men climbed the yards to tie down the canvas. As the Gullhartja glided toward the weathered wharf, Sea Wolf gave the order to drop anchor and lower the longboats to begin taking the crew ashore. 

Glancing around the ship in search of Gwen, Ivar saw her emerge from a space near the bow, still dressed in men’s pantaloons, her hair flying freely in the breeze, and her linen shirt open at the neck – her very presence taking his breath away. They arrived on shore and were greeted by a young local man named Mondo Chinea, who took a number of the men to a freshwater well where containers were replenished, while the men drank their fill. The crew made several trips from ship to shore replenishing supplies, belongings and water containers. They regrouped in the shade, and some of the crew raided the local fruit trees, peeling bananas and cracking open coconuts. Gwen, who had made the trip to shore with her protector, sat apart from the men under a tree, with Sofala nearby. She knew that it would be pointless to offer her assistance to the crew, and so she eventually relaxed, resting against a large coconut tree. Gwen dozed off in the warm tropical sun and enjoyed a brief reprieve from her swirling emotions – until a shadow crossed her face, waking her. She opened her sleepy eyes to see Sea Wolf looming above.

Embarrassed at being caught napping while those about her were working, she growled a greeting, garnering a smile from him. He extended a hand to help her up but she refused his assistance. She tried to be aloof in her ascent, but lost her balance and fell back in the sand, obviously still groggy from her nap. He watched her fall and chuckled at her indignant reaction to landing on her backside. 

“You best follow me, Lady Gwen,” he said. “You may want to hear this.” And he turned and left her sprawled in the sand. At the center of the beachhead, Sea Wolf gathered his men for an announcement. “Men, Mondo has brought us news. We have but only a few days before the English fleet will be upon us. They do not know our exact position, but they soon will be near enough to cause concern. They may go toward Africa or the open Atlantic and miss us altogether. If this happens, we will sail on toward the New World.” He paused and looked about the circle. “Most of you have been in my service for many years and none of you have ever questioned my authority. You have put complete trust in my abilities to lead, and you have never pried into my past. For this, you shall now be amply rewarded.”

The Captain directed their vision to a small, uninhabited island just north of them and easily seen from their vantage point. “That tiny island is called Isla de Lobos, named for the barking sea lions who reside on its shores. This is where my moniker came from after…” and he looked directly at Gwen as he continued, “…after I left Castle Green.” An audible gasp rose from the group, and Gwen’s jaw dropped instantly. Only Ubbe looked smug, obviously having already knowing their secret. Ivar continued, “I am, by birth, the right and usurped Count of the Castle and their lands. My name is Ivar Lothbrok of the house of Ragnar. I myself have been masquerading,” he continued, looking at Gwen before glancing to the rest of the crew. “Since my banishment from Castle Green, l have amassed significant riches, which I plan to distribute amongst you, my loyal and fearless crew. Our task now is to excavate the treasure, load this precious cargo onto our ship, and leave as quickly as we can. Time is of the essence.” The silence was immediately broken by cheers, and the men spun into action untying and busily preparing the longboats for Isla de Lobos and its buried treasure. Gwen stood transfixed, gaping at Ivar. Ivar, the Count of Castle Green, she thought in amazement. No wonder he looked familiar – he was the Count’s brother! Before Ivar left for the island, he walked over to Gwen and held out his hand. 

“Truce?” he asked, smiling at her. She stared at him, motionless. “Lady Gwen… Lady Gwen?” He spoke her name a few times before she regained her senses. 

“Yes, truce,” she stammered, “the white flag is raised.” A small smile brightened her face as his announcement continued to sink in. She knew she had met her match, and a new excitement kindled inside. 

“Good,” he said, “I’ll be back soon; stay with my other brother, Hvitserk…the cook, in the shade. We will talk when I return.” She nodded her head and watched him leave, images of the previous night replaying in her mind. She had made love to the real Count of Castle Green, her Count, what must he think? Would she be chastised, slandered? Then again, he had been banished and he was a pirate now, and pirates’ rules of conduct were very different than those of the Court. Her head filled with thought after thought as she paced under the shade of the palm trees, staring at, but not really seeing, the cook and his bird resting on a rock near the water. Her restlessness led her to climb a nearby hill in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Ivar and the crew unearthing the buried treasure on Isla de Lobos. 

It felt good to be on dry land and to feel the sand and grass beneath her bare feet, but Gwen realized that she relished her time at sea – the creaking of the ship’s timbers, the rolling motion of the waves, the crisp wind, and even the salty spray on her face. She watched the waves crash against the shore as she scanned the perimeter of the island. As Gwen squinted to find the movement of the crew, all she could see were the sea lions playing about on the rocks. Then, off in the distance, her gaze locked on what appeared to be a small fleet of ships coming straight toward their harbor. She didn’t know if the sun was playing tricks on her eyes or not, but there was a real possibility that the Count had sent a rescue party for her – and even if he hadn’t, Sea Wolf was a notoriously wanted man. 

She ran down the hill hollering to the cook, who jumped up from his quiet slumber, looking irritated at being disturbed. Out of breath, Gwen pointed to the shapes on the distant horizon, and in between gasps for air, told him of her fear that it was the British – coming for her and Sea Wolf. Hobbling as quickly as his sleepy body allowed, he pulled himself to a vantage point and opened a spyglass. Sure enough, with British colors flying, two warships and three West India-type sloops were bearing down upon them, all laden with guns and ready for action. They were arriving days earlier than expected. Against that amount of armory and men, Sea Wolf would have to use all of his animal instincts to escape alive. Hvitserk moved his spyglass to Isla de Lobos, where he saw the crew loading chests onto small boats on the near side of the island. He and Gwen hollered and waved, but their yells went unnoticed among the crashing waves and the sea lions roaring along the shoreline. 

Breathlessly, Gwen and the cook frantically returned to the beach, searching for anything that would make enough noise to get the attention of Ivar and the crew on Isla de Lobos. Much to her relief, Gwen found a pistol that had been left behind, hidden in a bundle of clothes next to a tree. She grabbed the gun and a sack of black powder, and thrust it at the cook. Gwen watched as, with agonizing slowness, he filled the gun with powder, packed it, and loaded a small lead ball before pointing the weapon into the air. The gun exploded, sending its cry of alert far and wide. Hearing the pistol’s explosion of sound, Ivar looked anxiously to the beach. “It’s Gwen!” he said, and pulled out his spyglass.

Back on the main island, he saw Gwen and the cook frantically gesturing, and he followed their pointing fingers to the horizon. Although he couldn’t see anything due to the position of the island, he knew that danger must be imminent to cause such frantic alarm. He yelled at the crew to quickly finish loading the last chest, as they needed to regroup on the Gullhartja immediately. It took the crew longer to row the short distance back to the beach on Fuerteventura, as their boats were now heavy, laden with treasure. Ivar jumped from his boat as soon as he was able, and ran toward Gwen and Hvitserk. Several of his men followed closely behind, brandishing pistols and short swords. Meeting him halfway, Gwen didn’t wait for him to speak, but pointed to the north and yelled, “The British fleet is on the horizon.” Lifting his spyglass once again, he could see from this vantage point what he had been unable to see before – Gwen and Hvitserk were right, the British were bearing down on them a day earlier than expected! Closing his spyglass, he barked to the crew, “Make haste men! The Brit’s may soon be upon us. Take those chests to the Gullhartja… there will be time enough later to split the spoils!” Glancing cautiously to the expanse of the ocean and the threat on the horizon, the men sprang to action and repacked the longboats for the trip back to the Gullhartja. 

Before leaving, Sea Wolf went to Gwen, who was helping the cook gather his pots and pans for the trip back to their ship. “Lady Gwen,” he said, pulling her aside beneath the shade of the palm trees. He searched her eyes, and his throat went dry. He could not bear to lose the lady he had waited an eternity for, but he knew the risks, even if she didn’t. “The British fleet is approaching, and you must return with them. In half a fortnight, you will be safe at home in Castle Green.” He said the words quickly in order to get them out without choking. He knew that the fleet was after him as much as they were after Gwen’s safe return – maybe more – and he knew that returning Gwen would not stop the inevitable battle, but he desperately needed to know that Gwen would be safe. Sending her back to Castle Green was his only hope.

Her lovely eyes filled with tears. “You are sending me away…” she stated  simply, her lower lip trembling. He saw the pain in her eyes and it almost broke his resolve. 

Taking her hands in his, he went on, “Gwen, a sea battle is no place for a woman.” He went on. “Besides, perhaps if you return to Castle Green, the British will allow my men and I to pass.” 

“You just don’t want me around.” She summed up what she thought he was telling her. Then she added, “You don’t really think that the British will let you pass if I return with them, do you?” Ivar was not surprised by her insight. He was about to lie to her and tell her he thought it was probable that he and his men could continue on unharmed, but he couldn’t force himself to deceive her yet again. 

“Gwen, if you go with the British, they will whisk you safely back to Castle Green.” He chose to avoid her question. Gwen was dumbfounded. She was certain that she saw love shining in his blue eyes, and yet, he was sending her away. Didn’t he understand that a life apart from him was no life at all? 

“Is there no other option, Ivar?” she asked quietly. “Maybe they won’t find us. They could sail south, and then we could slip past them and head for the New World.” She was having difficulty maintaining her composure, and several wet tears slowly ran down her cheek. 

“And have you live a pirate’s life forever? No, Gwen, I think we both know the answer to that.” He shook his head ruefully. “The best for all would be for you to return to Castle Green, and let me and my men do what we must.” Just then, Ubbe approached and interrupted the lover’s torment. 

“The crew is ready, Brother.” He looked anxiously at the weeping lady who was hastily wiping her face with the back of her hand, and at his Captain who looked as close to tears as he’d ever seen a man. “We’re waiting for your orders,” he finished, and made a hasty retreat. 

Ivar turned to Gwen, “Come now; we don’t have much time. We need to gather your things from the ship.” Unable to form the words she wanted to say, Gwen reluctantly followed Ivar to the Gullhartja. 

 

It was well past midnight before the cargo was stowed and secured aboard the Gullhartja. The wind had died down, and Ivar believed that the British were probably anchored for the night on the east side of the isle near Puerto Rosario. He knew that it would not take long for those seeking him to find out from the locals that the Gullhartja was anchored at Fuerteventura’s western shore. He needed to be in a better location to bargain with the British. They would sail through the silent night to the southwest corner of the isle, and be ready to meet the British in the morning. He gave the order to pull up anchor, and picking up a slight breeze, they headed southwest. Ivar found Gwen alone at the bow staring into the moonlight. They had not spoken more than a dozen words to each other since Ubbe had interrupted them on the beach. 

“Do you have your belongings together?” Ivar gently asked her. Gwen hesitated the briefest of moments before turning to face him. She had been thinking of nothing but him, and the life she wanted for the two of them, and she had made up her mind. Raising a hand to his brow to smooth an errant light brown lock, and taking a deep breath, she began, “Ivar Lothbrok, you don’t have to keep running. Fight for what is rightfully yours; take back your title and your lands.” She spoke forcefully, and then continued in a softer, more hesitant voice. 

“Let me stay. Let me help you defeat the heartless heathen who forced you from your home all those years ago. Please, let me stay by your side.” She paused, a hopeful expression on her lovely face. She had decided that she could no more leave him and return to Castle Green, than she could slice off her arm. She would rather die trying to save him and the life that was rightfully his, than return to an empty life at Castle Green. Ivar stopped her. 

“Lady Gwen, what of your safety?” He invoked her title to try and show her the danger of her plan. 

“I want to be wherever you are,” she said simply. “Don’t make me leave you,” she added with a hint of a smile. “And the people, the people of Castle Green will be with you once they know the truth.” She looked into his eyes, and with her own, sent all the power of her love to his heart, hoping it would be enough to convince him she was right. 

“Why do you take such chances, Lady Gwen, when you can return safely now, or when you could have returned with your friend, Elizabeth?” he asked, searching her eyes. He believed he knew the truth, but he needed to hear her say it.

“Because I fell in love,” she said, and then she bowed her head in a moment of shyness. 

Lifting her chin with his finger, and looking deep into her eyes, he smiled and gently asked, “With me, or the sea?”  She was taken aback by his question, because she had struggled with the same issue herself, and more than once over the past weeks. Now she knew. 

“With you, Ivar. On the sea, or on land; always with you.” She spoke sincerely. Relief flooded his features, and he pulled her to him. 

“Come then, you lusty wench, it seems that you’re an official crewmember of the Gullhartja.” And the two lovers made their way to the Captain’s quarters.


	11. Chapter 11

At dawn, the Gullhartja began to pitch and roll; this day had brought more wind. The sun continued its rise, and the men quickly woke. Many of the crew had bedded down on the top deck, only sleeping for a few short hours. Ivar gently nudged Gwen awake, his muscular body still wrapped around her form. Stirring long ago, Ivar was staring into her eyes as she awoke. He held her tightly, until at last he built up the courage to speak, knowing this could be their last time together.

“You are a brave woman, Gwen. I… I am so sorry for all you have had to endure.” He pushed back a lock of her hair, the sound of his heartbeat breaking the silence between them. Gwen refused to define the emotion running through her. She now knew that Ivar was the tinder to her match, and the spark to her flame. He, and he alone… She reached up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and watched Ivar as he left the bed… their bed. He dressed in what his men called his “Sunday best” – a pair of tall black leather boots, linen pants, a gold waistcoat, and a three quarter-length, red velvet coat, lined with ivory buttons. He donned a plumed Captain’s hat, and brought out two pistols and a blunderbuss. This was the pirate of her romantic vision, and though she knew of Captains who had stolen their garb from royalty, Ivar really was royalty, and the clothes were tailored to his muscular frame. She had never seen him looking so handsome, and so fitting the description of a pirate king. He perfectly depicted the drawings she had seen for wanted pirates back home. He also resembled the men who hung from their necks at the gallows square. She shivered. He saw the flicker of fear on Gwen’s face, and knew there was nothing he could do to quell her apprehension. Instead, he handed her a pistol and powder, along with a small knife.

“My love, please wait for me here, and I will come for you. This one could get bumpy, and I want to know where you are.” Kissing her lightly on the cheek, he strode confidently to the door. As he opened the door to leave, she tried to grab him for what might be her final caress of this wanton pirate, but he was gone. The sound of the lock being thrown in the door was his final comment. She ran to the porthole to try and get a last glimpse of him, but could see little except boots and stripped leggings racing fore and aft. Sea Wolf arrived on deck and felt the tension simmering below the surface calm, as his crew worked mechanically at their tasks. They raised the colors, readied the guns, and embarked in a northwest direction. 

The wind was brisk and the ship was moving well – Sea Wolf knew the moment was near. Just around the tip of Fuerteventura, the boatswain spotted two sloops – the scouts of the British fleet, racing toward them. The boatswain sounded the alarm and the crew ran to their positions, arming themselves for the battle that would soon be upon them. The sloops, smaller ships than the Gullhartja, were gaining ground quickly. It took less than an hour, and the race was over. “Heave to!” the boatswain cried, and the Gullhartja came to a standstill, her starboard facing the oncoming ships. 

The Gullhartja, loaded with thirty-six mounted guns – eighteen on each side – faced the three British sloops, each with ten guns. The firing power between the two sides was almost even. The sloops reached the Gullhartja and pulled to her portside – just near enough for the crews to yell at and taunt each other, but not close enough to board. Ivar stood on the rail, his muscular frame an imposing figure. Gwen heard the familiar voice of Lord Bard. 

“Give up Lady Gwen, and we will not attack!” he hollered to the pirates. Ivar could see that this ne’er-do-well was actually quaking in his boots, and was not the captain of the fleet. Ignoring the threat from the portside, Ivar turned to Ubbe. 

“The warship must be coming up from the rear; they mean to try and block us.” He yelled to the crew, “Prepare to fire!” The signals were given up and down the line, and the men fell into position. Ubbe grabbed the swivel gun and aimed it straight at Lord Bard. Not having anticipated such firepower, Lord Bard began screaming orders at his men. Another sloop pulled alongside the Gullhartja with her guns aimed, and a third tacked to the Gullhartja’s starboard, blocking her in. 

“Fire!” Sea Wolf yelled, and the cannons shot off a terrifying volley from both sides of the Gullhartja. Every other gun was fired, providing for reloading and defense of oncoming attacks. Ivar watched as one of the sloop’s shots sailed over the bow of the Gullhartja, landing harmlessly in the ocean with a huge splash. He saw that the Gullhartja’s shots had met with success, with direct hits on the two sloops on their portside. Ivar watched the drama intently as Bard’s sloop groaned loudly, her foremast toppling down across her gun deck, sending men dashing about in confusion. 

Ivar called out again, “Fire!” and the second set of cannons exploded. The two sloops on their portside, led by Bard and Gad, were now ablaze and suffering. The pirates hollered and cheered, waving their swords. Ubbe drew his pistol and shot a hole through the British colors of Bard’s ship. A scar-faced man, smiling and confident, led the sloop on the starboard side that had not been hit and was maneuvering wisely. Ivar recognized his face but couldn’t quite place him. 

The small sloop was just out of range of the Gullhartja’s guns, and both Captains knew it. The sloop drew the Gullhartja into deeper waters, but Ivar felt intuitively that it was a trick and changed course, turning away and sailing north. The sloop succeeded in heading off the larger ship, and so, with their portsides facing, Ivar held up his hand and yelled, “We have what you want! Do you want to see her unharmed?” He then instructed Ubbe to go below and get Gwen – a plan was afoot. When Gwen came topside, the air was full of smoke and tensions were high. Seeing her, Ivar had to smile. Gwen was wearing her manly pantaloons, thigh-high boots and a corset, with a tight belt around her middle. Covering her hair, she had tied a square of Ivar’s pajamas into a skullcap. She looked every inch a lady pirate, and he hoped she was up for the task ahead of her. He leaned over and whispered instructions in her ear. 

Immediately she began screaming. Ubbe and Sofala loosely tied her wrists, and then attached her to one of the rigging lines. They sat her on the block-and-tackle and lifted her up the mainmast, then climbed up after her and tied her in position. Her screaming, writhing body was visible all the while. She was clearly a captive in front of the mainsail, and Ivar thought that they would no longer be fired upon with their hostage in harm’s way. But he was wrong… Aelle took pleasure in his killing, and cared little for saving Gwen. He wanted to be rid of Sea Wolf for good, his brothers, and then he would finally finish off his most bothersome brother, the Count. 

Soon,he and LeVelant would secure the exports across Spain and France, making them all the richer. They planned to clear the waters of any pirate who interrupted their shady dealings, and Sea Wolf would be a good start. Gwen saw that it was Aelle on the small sloop, and angrily screamed his name at the top of her lungs. Aelle ordered his crew to fire, and they blasted the side of the Gullhartja. The Gullhartja didn’t take on much damage, except for the head, which was blown to splinters; the remnants in the boxes splattered. A stench rose in the air and Ubbe yelled, “That’s our secret weapon, asshole!” as the sloop’s crew finally caught wind of the stench, and started gagging. Gwen wriggled her fingers and painfully reached for the knife tucked deep in the back of her belt, and eventually cut her hands free. 

The Gullhartja fired on the small ship and blew out three guns, leaving only two firing. The next volley from the Gullhartja came fast and dismantled the sloop’s top gun, and another below. Aelle’s ship was now almost defenseless, but quickly tacked to the portside and scraped up against the Gullhartja’s hull, binding the vessels together. The boarding frenzy began. Knives in mouths, cutlasses drawn, and pistols firing, the men met in hand-to-hand combat. The air was filled with thick, acrid smoke and the cries of dying men. Gwen screamed, and Ivar turned and fired his blunderbuss at the three men climbing toward her, the sharp shrapnel knocking them to the deck in a bloodied mess. Gwen was still struggling with the last of the lines that secured her when she spotted a large ship, flying English colors, coming at them from the south. 

“Ivar! Over there!” she yelled, and watched Ivar push a sailor overboard. Ivar looked to see where she was pointing, and saw an eighty-gun third-rater heading their way. The vessel had now drawn close enough for him to make out faces – two of which belonged to people for whom he had mixed emotions. One was his brother, and the other Malory LeVelant. They both appeared to be wildly signaling Aelle’s ship, instructing them to move off and not board the Gullhartja – but those orders were blatantly being disregarded.   
Ivar ran to the mainmast and reached up, quickly finishing the chore of cutting Gwen free. “Will you be all right?” he shouted over the din of the mêlée. 

“Yes!” she yelled back, her eyes betraying her true feelings. At that moment, another sailor jumped up on the quarterdeck, heading straight for Gwen. Ivar raised his short sword, only to be stopped in his tracks by Gwen’s piercing scream. The oncoming sailor had an odd gait and seemed to be holding his sword too low to be of any serious consequence. Gwen recognized the sailor immediately – it was Elizabeth, her brown eyes locked to hers across the smoke-filled deck as she ran and hugged Gwen like there was no tomorrow.   
Elizabeth stammered, out of breath, “Gwen, Are you okay? When I heard you scream I thought it as all over,” she stammered, while trying to catch her breath. “When I heard the Count was dispatching ships to find you, I couldn’t stay behind. I still had my disguise, so I boarded unnoticed.” Ivar stared unbelieving at Elizabeth, and thought to himself, ‘Do these women ever wear women’s clothing?’ but now was not the time for reunions. 

Sea Wolf jumped to the deck and ran to the bow. Sofala smashed three men at once with a plank, and broad-sided them into the sea. Then Sea Wolf, Sofala and two other pirates removed the grappling hooks and ropes that bound the two vessels together. They watched as a group of pirates leapt from the sloop’s deck onto their own, punching and slashing their way through as Sea Wolf leapt to safety. The three British vessels were now maimed and disabled. The Gullhartja moved freely and turned her portside to the aft of the warship. The larger square-rigger heaved and came alongside. The brothers were now close enough to look into each other’s eyes. Just as he was about to speak, Ivar saw LeVelant grab his brother from behind and put a knife to his throat. LeVelant, with an animal glow in his eyes, yelled so the crews of all vessels could hear, 

“This man, this Count Sigurd, has been illegally trading goods from England. And making profits by pirating back his own goods. He’s in cahoots with this cutthroat, Sea Wolf, formally known as Ivar of the house of Ragnar.” 

Sigurd was shocked, but bravely managed to cry out, “Mutiny!” but the men were confused and unsure what to do. Aelle’s disabled sloop was now at the front of the Gullhartja, with the other warship at her port. The Gullhartja was once again locked in, but the crews of the four British vessels were at an impasse. The British’s two hundred and twenty men faced the Gullhartja’s crew of one hundred eighteen, completely unsure of who was to fire upon whom! Just then, a saving sight came over the horizon. It was the El Cacafuego, a first-rate Spanish ship, and its flag was that of Santiago Morales! Ubbe raced to the quarterdeck and opening a spyglass, yelled to Ivar below. 

“Reinforcements!” All eyes turned to the west, scanning the horizon. 

The El Cacafuego moved her gallant self into range, her billowing tiers of sails outlined in the brilliant sunlight. The decks swarmed with hands lashing cannons to the gun ports, while other seamen clambered aloft to reset sails. The ship’s fifty cannons were readied and put into position. The mounted guns on the top deck were swung around and pointed directly at the British warship. Everyone’s attention on the Gullhartja was diverted to the El Cacafuego as they watched the Spanish flag being raised, the ship now ready for battle. Only Gwen, who was distracted by a movement out of the corner of her eye, noticed an errant British officer crawling out from behind a group of barrels directly behind Ivar on the main deck!  Gwen knew she had but a split second and grabbed for the mainsail top rope, silently kicking off from her perch on the quarterdeck. 

Leaving a shocked Elizabeth in her wake and with a knife lodged firmly between her teeth, Gwen soared the short distance across the deck and kicked the unsuspecting Brit square in the head as she landed, roughly careening into the barrels. The reckless Englishman fell to the deck in a heap and Ivar turned quickly to see Gwen standing proudly with one foot on the back of the thug’s head and a knife at his neck – poised should he be foolish enough to move. The moment was shattered by a cannon volley fired from El Cacafuego, followed by the sound of wood splintering, and Ivar swung around to see the mast of the British warship explode into thousands of pieces. 

The pirates hollered and dropped plank, lead by Sea Wolf, scrambling the short distance to the Count’s ship. A brief skirmish ensued, but the Count’s sailors surrendered almost immediately, not knowing who they should be fighting for – LeVelant or the Count. LeVelant was eventually gruffly wrestled to the ground and escorted below deck to be dealt with. Ivar crossed the deck and met his brother face-to-face, finally speaking for the first time in over twelve years. His brother looked at him with sorrowful eyes. “I was lied to by people I trusted. Forgive me.” And he held out his hand in a gesture of peace. Ivar said nothing but reached out and pulled his brother into a hearty embrace. As he looked over his brother’s shoulder he saw Gwen grinning from ear-to-ear.  A devilish grin, the grin of a pirate that had just won her first battle.


	12. The End

Everyone gathered that evening at Fuerteventura to celebrate the glorious conclusion to the day. Sigurd and his men, Santiago and his motley crew, and Sea Wolf and his pirates, all joined in merriment as never seen before on the isle. The locals quickly prepared a feast for their many honored guests. Earlier, Santiago and his men had tied LeVelant and Aelle to separate stakes. Bound by their hands and feet, they were paraded throughout the village to the jeers and taunts of the locals. The two men’s curses could be heard loudly, as their Spanish captors eventually dragged them back to camp. Finally, they propped the men on barrels by their wooden stakes, so that they were raised off the ground, each man dangling by his arms and legs. The Spaniards found kindling and small logs and began stacking wood around them. LeVelant and Aelle’s curses turned to cries of despair as they watched their demise being prepared. 

The English seamen thought this method of punishment a little harsh, but after discovering the full extent of LeVelant’s deception, and the horror of turning brother against brother, they soon changed their minds and joined in the preparation. “We will have a pig roast!” shouted Santiago, and the men cheered. The two captives were left hanging for many hours, as the festivities progressed around them. They were eventually replaced by a real suckling pig, but LeVelant and Aelle were left tied to their stakes and dragged to the Spanish vessel, where they were thrown below in the hold to the rats and cockroaches. 

During the festivities, Gwen and Elizabeth found a quiet alcove and excitedly recounted their adventures. Gwen described working on the ship, and how difficult it had been at first, scrubbing the planks with a holystone and cleaning the cabins, but that eventually crewmembers like Sofala had instructed her on the handling of the halyards and hoisting the jibs, and how she’d actually overcome her fear of heights once and for all. “But tell me, Elizabeth, how did you come to be here? With the Count’s ship and all,” Gwen asked.   
“Well,” Elizabeth started, “when we returned, I presented Sea Wolf’s handkerchief to the Count and he was immediately interested – so interested that he didn’t ask about our escaping from the banishment to the bedchamber punishment. When I told him you’d stayed on with the crew, he really started badgering me with questions. The Count asked me about lots of things that didn’t make sense, and then he asked if I knew where Sea Wolf was going next.” Elizabeth paused. “Well, when that ghastly man, Ubbe, was tormenting me with his hairy spider, I heard one of the pirates talking about how Sea Wolf often docked at the Canary Islands for supplies and provisions. As soon as I told the Count this, he and LeVelant had the Shipmaster ready the entire fleet to go after you!” Gwen looked at Elizabeth with a puzzled expression. It seemed odd to her that they would be so concerned about her well-being. 

Elizabeth, seeing the expression on Gwen’s face, continued, “I know, I thought it odd as well. Until that is, I overheard Aelle and LeVelant talking after the Count had left the room, saying that it wasn’t you they were going after, it was really Sea Wolf, and that once they did away with him, they were going to go after the Count. That’s when I knew I had to do something! The Count was being sabotaged and you were in the middle of it on a ship of thieves and murderers!” Elizabeth said with a grin. Gwen was amazed. Elizabeth continued, “And Santiago Morales? Was I ever glad to see him!” she said emphatically. “You see, I went to the Shipmaster to tell him of the plans afoot. Lucky for us, he suggested we send a messenger to Spain, to that El Toro Negro tavern, to let Santiago know that Sea Wolf was about to be ambushed. Fortunately for us, the messenger made it in time, or we’d be the ones being roasted!” 

Gwen chimed in, “But it was awfully brave of you to sneak onto Aelle’s ship, Elizabeth.” 

“A woman can do anything when she puts her mind to it,” Elizabeth said with a wink. “It was the Shipmaster who got me on board, actually. It took a lot of convincing, but finally he agreed and had me pose as a delivery boy helping to load supplies – I just never got off and stayed in the hold – until the trouble started, of course. With all the excitement, I even forgot about my seasickness!” Gwen hugged her friend and laughed. 

“Well, Elizabeth, you sure turned out to be quite a pirate after all! I don’t know quite how to thank you–” She was interrupted by the sight of Ubbe approaching. Ubbe stopped before the two friends, unsure whether to break up the women’s embrace. 

“Excuse me ladies,” Ubbe began, “but I owe you an apology,” and he took off his hat to reveal a mess of hair. The Lothbrok men were all quite handsome in their own ways. “Your not as bad as a girl as you were as boys. I mean, eh, well, ya know whath I mean.” He took a long slug from his tankard, and wandered off in the same direction from whence he had come. The women smiled and watched as the crude man made his way toward his table with Ivar, Hvitserk and the Count. A loud belch announced his arrival, and several heads turned to mark the occasion. 

“Ah, Ubbe! Now what am I going to do with you?” asked Ivar with a wink. Ubbe looked a bit worried. “Tell you what, my mate. I’m thinking of hanging up my sea legs for a while and retiring to land. I need someone to take over the Gullhartja… Someone who would appreciate her like I have all these years… Someone who knows her as well as I do, and someone who could keep up the image of Sea Wolf. Would you care to take it on or would you like to come home?” Ubbe slumped into a chair, caught totally off- guard by his brother’s remarks. Ivar watched the unfathomable – a hint of a tear appearing in Ubbe’ eye. Ubbe got up and brushed it away, not sure whether it was in reaction to his brother’s leaving the Gullhartja, or the excitement of hearing of his new post. 

Gwen stood at the edge of the festivities, watching the locals bringing out more platters of food. Elizabeth quietly excused herself and disappeared into the crowd. From the looks of it, the riotous party was going to continue into daybreak, and maybe into the next afternoon. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Gwen saw Ivar stand on his table preparing to make an announcement, and suddenly the antics and hijinks subsided. Nearly four hundred heads turned, and voices went silent. Ivar cleared his throat and raised a glass. 

“To my crew – the best fighting men that a Captain would ever want to take into battle!” Wild cheers rose up from the crowd. Ivar poured another drink and lifted his cup again. “And this is for mi’ amigo, Santiago Morales and his crew, for they saved more than my life today – may you all live long lives!” Gunfire and whistles rang through the air. “This I raise for the Brits, my countrymen, whom I have missed and long to be with again!” Claps and shouts of “Jolly good” filled the air as Sea Wolf poured more ale into his cup. Raising his arm again, he continued, “This is for my brother; how I have missed your company, your friendship and your smile – and oh, how I can’t wait to get my old room back!” Gwen saw the men around them laugh as the Count raised his tankard to meet Ivar’s. To her surprise, Elizabeth was by the Count’s side looking as though she was meant to be there. ‘Now she didn’t tell me that part of the story!’ Gwen mused, before hearing Ivar continue. 

“And, now that I have sufficiently built my courage,” Ivar paused and searched the crowd for Gwen, “Lady Gwen of Dover, I ask that you come forth!” Whistles and cheers exploded as Gwen was escorted through the crowd by Ubbe and helped up onto the table. “Lady Gwen,” he began, “formerly known as ‘Young Nicholas’ to my crew.” He took a pause and another sip, to the amusement and raucous laughter of his men. But Ivar did not laugh, his blue eyes true and clear. The wind caught small wisps of Gwen’s hair, and unexpectedly he felt like the two of them were alone – that everyone had disappeared and his storm-struck vision from so long ago was before him. He now understood Gwen’s familiarity – hers was the face of the goddess he had seen during the tempest –  the vision that had offered him guidance, and promised him safety. 

“My beloved… I offer myself to you – strong as a whale in deep waters, faithful as a graceful dolphin, and as tender as the leaves of sea grass that ride the undercurrents of the great oceans. I pledge that you will be the one and only star that shines in my night sky. I have traveled to the ends of the earth searching for riches and treasure, and now I know that you are the treasure that was worth every risk, every journey, and every battle.” Gwen’s eyes shined brightly and her voice was strong and clear as she answered, “On the sea, on the land, wherever you are – I will always be with you.”


End file.
